


After it Rains

by TheFloralFox



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Eventual background Seungchuchu, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, POV First Person, Photography AU, Romance, leoji if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-01-18 09:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 92,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12385125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFloralFox/pseuds/TheFloralFox
Summary: Yuri is given the responsibility of packing up the old family vacation house. There's nothing left for the struggling artist in the small town by the river, aside from bad memories. That is, until an unexpected visitor helps him uncover more than just pain from his past.





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Most chapters will be from Yuri’s point of view, and I will be using ‘Yuri’ instead of ‘Yuuri.’ This chapter sets the scene for the whole story, so here we go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most chapters will be from Yuri’s point of view, and I will be using ‘Yuri’ instead of ‘Yuuri.’ This chapter sets the scene for the whole story, so here we go!

Gone are the sounds of the city; no cars honk, no people shout, no sirens blare and no footsteps shuffle along pavement. Only birds, frogs and insects sing their songs, hidden behind trees and tall grasses near the river banks. The air feels cleaner, lighter than the reliable smog, and the clouds are a soft white instead of a dull grey. Softly, a breeze carries the muddy fragrance of the shore mixing with the warm dirt road that forks in two directions over to me. It’s very calming and serene, and if I’m being honest with myself, I hate it. I don’t leave the area surrounding my car, but I glance around at my temporary surroundings for the first time in twelve years. I didn’t exactly grow up here, but it was part of my childhood. My family and I only visited during the summer, then went back to our normal lives in a city, back the way I came; I rather like busy streets and crowded sidewalks that go on for miles. I even went to university in that city, taking classes between helping my family run the boarding house, and I grew to like the rush and distraction of living amongst countless strange faces and hiding in a sea of buildings. Out here, though, there’s nobody, and nowhere to hide. I sigh, using my dusty sedan to keep me standing. I want to tell myself: I told you so. Of course this trip was a silly idea, but how could I argue with my mom and sister when their hearts were in the right place? “Alright.” My eyes drift over the dirt driveway, up the slope of the crabgrass yard to the main house; it absolutely looms over everything that dares to get too close to it, dwarfing the guesthouse nearby. Evidently, houses can be menacing. A thought threatens to form at the back of my mind, but I force it away with a shudder and a shake of my head. “Not that house.” I sling my overweight duffel over one shoulder and head down the right side of the path. “Come on, Vicchan.” I direct my toy poodle to follow me closely. Vicchan obeys and stays at my side as we make our way down the forked path. “We’re staying in the guesthouse.”

I run my fingers over a corner of the small house, remembering when my parents went to town to get the pale blue paint. They painted the exterior themselves and told my sister and I to go play instead, but all I wanted was to grab a brush and join them. The color is slightly faded now, and chipping in places. The front door opens without much of a fuss, only creaking when I push it as far as it can go. Light streaming through thinly curtained windows illuminates dust particles, floating this way and that; it’s not the worst thing to be greeted with, I imagine. There’s only one bedroom, so it isn’t hard to find. Beyond the doorway, instead of a bed, a dingy mattress sits flush with the floor, uncovered and gathering cobwebs. The bedside lamp rests on a wobbly table, missing a bulb, shade askew. My jaw falls open; I’m supposed to live here, with a dirty mattress and dust floating around everywhere? I can’t seem to find any words when my phone starts to ring in my pocket. I accept the call with unsteady hands and step out into the hallway. “Little brother, you make it alright?” My sister, Mari, huffs. She most likely rolled her eyes, too.

“I just got to the guesthouse.”

“You were supposed to call or text when you got there. You know how our parents—wait, why are you in the guesthouse? Is something wrong with the main one?” She asks.

“No.” I sigh, straightening the high dynamic range photos on the walls. I wanted to hang all of these prints in the main house, but my mom told me family pictures were more appropriate. The images were taken and edited by my favorite photographer, Victor Nikiforov, and I wasn’t above begging and bargaining to show off my collection; eventually, she allowed me to hang some prints in the guesthouse and keep my most treasured print in the main house. Now that I think about it, it’s probably still in there. “I don’t want to go back in there. Not yet, anyway.”

Before responding, Mari pauses. She knows what happened the last time I was here. I mean, she was there, too; how could anyone forget? “Is this about art camp?” Her voice is quiet, almost gentle. My blood goes cold when her words confirm we’re thinking about the same thing. “That was twelve years ago, Yuri.”

“I’m well aware of how long ago it was.” My hand hovers over a frame for a moment; there was a time when I so desperately wanted to be like him, posting photos and selling prints online to adoring fans. Sometimes dreaming just isn’t enough. I let my hand fall to my side, deciding to walk over to what can be considered the living room.

“Sorry.”

“It’s not…” Not what? Her fault? I don’t know what she’s apologizing for, but it’s not her fault I harbor bad memories. “Well, whatever. I went into the bedroom and there’s just a mattress on the floor.” I brush off the loveseat cushions to give myself a cleaner place to sit. Vicchan joins me on the other half of the chair, laying his head in my lap. My fingers instantly weave through his caramel fur, warming them and my thoughts. “What happened to the sheets and the bedframe?”

“Mom and Dad got rid of the frame years ago. There should still be some blankets and stuff in the hall closet, I think. It’s hard to know since a lot has been moved out already.”

“I’ll check there later.”

“You still have quite a bit to pack.” Mari sighs. I don’t tell her that I don’t need the reminder. “Good thing it’s not anything too fragile; the trailer’s kinda small.”

My dad helped me attach the rental trailer to the back of my car, but it may not be able to tote everything. “I guess what doesn’t fit, or what’s too fragile, can go in my car.” I think aloud. It’s not like I brought many of my own things.

“You mean your Nikiforov photos?” She laughs. “You’ll probably stack them with tissue paper and wrap them in a silk sheet, or something!” My sister can’t go too long without teasing me in some way; I’m convinced she’ll start to deteriorate if she doesn’t remind me of all the things she doesn’t understand about me.

“Hilarious.”

“I’m only joking! Hey, don’t forget to stop in town before it gets dark. You know how the stores all shut down at sunset.” Mari reminds me as her laughter dies down.

“I forgot how different things are here.” I sigh. Granted, the last time I was here, I was only twelve, but having the town close at seven strikes me as a bit ridiculous. Come to think of it, town is half an hour away; what if I need something in the middle of the night? I can’t walk down to the corner store and back in less than fifteen minutes. This town doesn’t even have a hospital, for goodness sake. “How do they live like this?”

“I’m gonna have to.”

“Not for that long. I mean, you’re staying for a month and then bringing stuff back? That’s not so bad. Maybe it’ll be relaxing out there in the country.”

“I guess so.” I’m not used to my sister trying to be positive, so it takes me a moment to realize that she’s being nice. A small smile forms on my face at her noteworthy attempt. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, I know it’s not like home, but you’re helping out Mom and Dad and that’s a nice thing to do. It’d be cool to make it a good experience.”

“That’s true.” I nod absently. “What should I do for food?”

“I’d suggest you invest in ready-made meals you can microwave; it’ll save time and stuff. We did leave the microwave there, right?”

Ugh, I hadn’t thought of that. I let my head fall back against the sofa, an exhale escaping. I move Vicchan aside and make my way to the kitchen, dragging my feet. Atop the plastic-coated counter rest the good ol’ black microwave, rice cooker and kettle. “Yeah, it’s still here with some other appliances.”

“If you’d gone to school in another city, you probably wouldn’t be so afraid to cook.”

“I’m not afraid!” I can’t keep from pouting. While I want to wonder where she got that idea in the first place, most of me knows exactly what her answer would be. “It’s just easier to use a microwave rather than make things from scratch. It’s not like I can’t cook.” I just find it easier to order takeaway.

“Right.”

Well, I don’t care much for that tone. I fold my arms over my chest. “Whatever, Mari. You’ve seen me cook, and I’m competent enough in the kitchen to get by.” There’s a pad of paper with a small pencil stuck to the refrigerator. I tap the pencil against my chin, getting an idea that’ll shut my sister up. I jot down items I’m going to buy at the store, including items for Vicchan. “I’m going to make a meal and send you pictures so you can see how wrong you are.”

“I’d love to see that.” Mari laughs. “Remember when we used to take turns cooking dinner for all the tenants and I gave everyone food poisoning from that weird pork?”

Despite how sick I got the night in question, I laugh. “Then Mom decided she’d be the only one allowed in the kitchen.” I can’t remember the last time any of the boarders offered to make a meal after that night. Sometimes it really is best to leave things to the experts. “Well, I’m gonna try anyway.”

“Good luck. Text me when you get back, okay?”

“I will. I love you.”

“Love you, too, kid.” Mari hangs up first, as usual. I wonder if it physically pains her to talk on the phone. I shrug at the thought, peeling the grocery list from the pad and promptly folding it into a tiny square. When I return to the living room, Vicchan is exactly where I left him. Traveling takes its toll on me, but not nearly as much as it does on him.

“I know you’re tired, but we have to go out.” I motion for Vicchan to come. He practically rolls off the couch, eventually standing at my side once again. “We have to get food for the week and I don’t want to leave you alone in this dusty old place.” I explain, sticking my tongue out. We walk back to the car and I buckle us both in for safety. Vicchan will undoubtedly find a way to disentangle himself from the seatbelt, but at least I’m trying, right? After backing out of the driveway, my car crawls along the dirt road and over the narrow bridge that crosses the river. During especially warm summers, I used to jump off the bridge with Mari into the cool water. Our parents would sit on the bank, fishing, eyes glued to us like security guards in case anything went south. Come to think of it, wasn’t the water clearer? I used to hold my breath beneath the surface and watch little fish swim by; not that I’d attempt to even go in, but I doubt my eyes could make out any fish in there now. “I almost can’t believe we used to swim in that.” I grimace. On the drive, we pass trees and a couple farms but not much else. I sigh each time I realize there really isn’t anything to see: only plants and a lack of architecture. The trip is largely uneventful, even as we approach town. If memory serves, there’s one grocery store and it doesn’t belong to a chain. The entire parking lot is empty, save for a bicycle. “I’ll be right back, so be a good boy.” I roll the windows down and scratch Vicchan behind his ears so he doesn’t get too sad. The silence that envelopes me when I walk inside the store unnerves me; it’s nice to be alone with my thoughts and all, but the deafening quiet is almost too much. I feel like I’m waiting for something to happen, or for my ears to pick up on any sound at all. Why aren’t there any other people browsing the frozen section? Has buying fresh produce gone out of style? It takes a few minutes, but I manage to set aside my unease long enough to shop and take my items to the register.

“Afternoon, sir.” The cashier smiles, tying his ruddy brown hair in a knot at the nape of his neck. “I’ll try to get you out of here quickly in case you still need to prep.” He nods. My mouth pulls down in a frown, eyes slightly narrowing. The cashier doesn’t seem to notice, asking, “Did you find everything alright?”

“I did, thank you.” I watch the tan man scan my items; his previous comment nags at me, though. “I’m sorry, what was that you said about needing to prep? What’re you talking about?”

“Hm?” He tilts his head to one side, lost at my words. His dark eyes brighten at last. “Oh! I mean for the storm.”

“What storm?”

“Don’t you live nearby?”

“I’m staying at my family’s old vacation house by the narrow bridge, but I’m not really from here.” I explain. “Just a bit ago, there weren’t many clouds around. What storm?”

“Well, the wind is expected to pick up and bring in heavy rain for days. Everyone’s been preparing for it, especially the people who live by the water. You know, in case it floods.”

“Floods?!” I don’t mean to shout, but I can’t help it; do I sincerely need to be worried about flooding?

The cashier stops scanning my things to look back up at me; his eyes intensify with seriousness. “Yeah…when it rains a lot, the river can overflow. Haven’t you been here before? Everyone’s already home, preparing to lock themselves indoors.” He chuckles with a little shrug. I fail to find the humor in being stuck on the road in the middle of a flood. I sigh, rubbing my eyes beneath my glasses. “I think you might want to get a few more things if you live that far from town. Want me to have someone grab stuff for you?”

“Actually, I’ll be right back. I’ll go myself.” Back to the frozen section I go, filling my arms with more boxes and bags of prepared food. I nearly drop it all, jumping from a tap on my shoulder that makes me juggle everything in an attempt to keep hold. After catching my breath, I turn to a slightly flushed but smiling freckled man.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.” He apologizes. Naturally, this does nothing to slow my startled heartbeat. “Leo told me you’re not exactly prepared for the storm. Is that true?”

“I…I guess so.” I shake my head; I remind myself that he’s harmless and had no intention of scaring the life out of me. He said Leo, and I’ve only seen one other person in the store. “The cashier?”

“Yeah, that’s Leo. I’m Guang-Hong.” He nods. “I think you need some other essentials, too, like matches and batteries and stuff in case the power goes out.”

“Right.” I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe I just didn’t want to consider power outages. I allow Guang-Hong to drag me through a few more aisles before rejoining Leo at the register. Most words pass between the two of them while I simply nod and act polite. Guang-Hong insists on helping me out of the store, packing my paper bags into the trunk with efficiency I imagine only mothers of at least six kids can master. “Thank you for your help.” I smile sincerely. Even if they only wanted me to spend more of my money, getting extra items may prove useful, and they were both very friendly. “Tell Leo I said thanks, too.” The small brunette agrees, waving goodbye, and I finally get back on the road. It doesn’t take long for drops of rain to obscure my vision enough to switch the windshield wipers on, then promptly to a faster speed. “Seems like our timing is alright. We’ll be fine at the house. I think we’re far enough from the river, and the property is on a little hill.” I intend my words to calm Vicchan, but it’s obvious that those same words are meant for my ears, too. Once at the guesthouse, I manage to bring all the groceries in two trips; I blame the fact that these bags have no handles, making them more difficult to carry. After feeding Vicchan and fixing up the bedroom and bathroom a bit, I send a quick text to Mari: ‘Just got back home. The cashier told me to expect rain for days, and maybe a flood.’ She doesn’t reply until I’m heating water for tea, groceries put away.

‘Seriously?? Sorry, that sucks. So bizarre.’

I nod to myself and abandon my phone on the counter so I can find the necessary cookware for a fast meal. No, I don’t need to be in a rush, but the impending storm and possible flood lights a fire under me to settle in. It’s like this jittery energy can only be suppressed once I’m sitting down in the living room, chores completed. I finally reply to her text: ‘I agree. I’m going to start dinner and hope for the best with the weather.’ After my first cup of tea, I fill the rice cooker more than necessary; I can always fry the leftovers for tomorrow. I prepare some vegetables, shaky hands nearly filleting my own fingers, to be stir fried when Mari replies.

‘You’ll be fine. The house is in a good place. What are you making?’

‘I’m stir frying vegetables to serve over rice. Trying to calm my nerves with tea.’ I feel no shame in telling my sister I’m taking the easy way out with my meal; I never said it would be an elaborate one, anyway. The familiar scent of warm vegetables in oil slightly eases my discomfort, but not as much as it would if it were my mom’s cooking. If she and I were to cook the same dish the same way, mine would be lacking something only hers would achieve.

Mari replies: ‘Good idea. Be sure to send me a picture and tell me how it turns out.’

‘Okay, I will.’ I pocket my phone until my meal has finished cooking. At least it smells good. There is no dining room here, so the coffee table in the living room serves as a place to eat. After following through with texting Mari, I place my phone on the table next to my rice and vegetable bowl and leave the room. I left my bag on my bed since it became evident that there’s no dresser or hangers in the closet; I wasn’t left with many options. My digital camera is secure in one of the bag’s side pockets while my instant print camera in the other; I go for the latter, even though I doubt I’ll make use of it. I pause in the hallway to take in one of my favorite works of Victor’s hanging on the wall; I trace the tiny ‘VN’ signature in the lower right corner with a faint smile, fingers delicate against the glass. Nothing inspires me to snap photos quite like my favorite pieces of art. A bit of nervous energy settles in with me at the table, joining my camera and a cup of tea. My phone fills the silence with instrumental music to distract me from the occasional roar of thunder. I glance around the room for anything interesting to photograph, coming up empty. “I’ve never been around a flood.” When I look at Vicchan, he’s sniffing the air my food is turning fragrant. I take a quick picture of him, disliking the lighting and angle when the print comes out.

A text from Mari interrupts my thoughts: ‘Looks good! Is it?’

I scoff at her question, still smiling. Maybe it’s more of a smirk now that I’ve tasted the food and enjoyed it. ‘Affirmative :) I told you I can cook!’ “I guess I’m not inept after all.” It’s nice to have that confirmation, even if it does make me slightly smug. Now, if I can get my camera to capture something as satisfying to my ego as dinner, I’ll be a happy individual. A few unsteady images print from the camera of the furniture and my food. I hate how unflattering the angles are, and how the backgrounds seem flat: nothing looks right. My stomach growls, demanding I eat instead of unsuccessfully take pictures.

‘You were right XD Are you gonna call it an early night?’ Mari texts when I reach the bottom of the bowl. It’s not a bad idea to end the day; I know nothing will come of my photography.

‘Probably soon. I’m pretty tired, and Vicchan gets tired with all the travelling.’

‘That makes sense. You should rest up though and don’t worry about the weather. I’m sure it’ll be OK :]’

I shouldn’t be so relieved to set my camera down but I am; it’s just not happening tonight. My dishes are staying in the sink overnight; tomorrow’s Yuri will have more energy for that kind of thing. Mari and I say our goodnights while I stand outside with Vicchan, tightly leashed. I found this pair of oversized rainboots in the hall closet; they’re large enough that I can wear them over my shoes! The rain pelts the ground with such speed and force, I briefly worry for my dog’s safety. “Let’s hurry back.” I usher Vicchan back inside. He immediately shakes the weather from his fur, splattering the pale paint on the walls by the back door. Once in the room, I change into a loose black tee with long sleeves and flannel pajama pants. Unfortunately, there’s no real heating in here so I’m on my own if I want to keep warm all night. “Today wasn’t too bad. Weather aside, I mean.” I tell Vicchan. Ever since I was young, I discovered I sleep better after stretching for a while; I set my palms on the floor near my toes, making sure not to lock my knees while staying upright. “I hope tomorrow isn’t too bad, but we may not even be able to leave the house.” My dog ignores me, deciding to leave the room altogether. “What’re you doing?” I call after him. He doesn’t wander off without me unless something really has his attention. I find him at the front door, but I frown at him. “What is it, Vicchan?” It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for me to hear it, too: a car engine, struggling to be heard over thunder. I order Vicchan to stay put, pulling on the rainboots and stepping outside, darkness overwhelming me. Down the road, the faint outline of a car battles against wind, rain and mud. This person is clearly stuck; if they manage to get out, they won’t have anywhere to go once they get to town. That is, if the bridge is still functional. For all I know, it, too, may be under water and wet dirt. Inhaling and holding a breath, I know I won’t be able to sleep tonight unless I force myself to ignore the cold and trudge onward into the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be around twenty chapters; I can’t seem to write short stories XD So that’s the intro chapter! PM me any typos or grammatical things~ All the love to anyone who reads, reviews and all that good stuff :D


	2. Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all get to find out who’s stuck in the mud XD Also, I love Vicchan and it made more sense to me for Yuri to travel with a companion, so he’s here to stay! Again, from Yuri’s POV.

The yellow glow of the porch light does very little to help me navigate past the front step. Why didn’t I bring my phone to use as a flashlight? Or maybe I could’ve brought an actual flashlight; that would’ve been smart. My glasses become a hinderance once the wind coats them in water, but I somehow manage to put one foot in front of the other until I’m near the strange vehicle. I don’t want to step in front of the car, even if it’s stuck in the mud, but I need to get the driver’s attention. My fists clench at my sides while I fill my lungs with frigid air. “Excuse me!” I call out, voice getting lost between the howling wind and the whining engine. I don’t have a very big voice, but what else can I do? I try again: “EXCUSE ME!” At once, the revving stops. Did that really work? It’s hard to see anything, even after I futilely wipe the drops from my lenses. I think I can make out a person standing on the other side of the car. “Do you need help?” I shout at the dark form.

“Yes, I could probably use a hand!”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this person was having fun being in this mess; I must be mistaking their light tone for humor. I shake my head, remembering to stay focused; it’s cold, and I want to get out of this weather. “We should try to get your car up the hill.”

“Will that work?”

“I can try to push it?” I hate how uncertain I sound, like I’m just as lost as he is. I straighten my posture, nodding once. “We can try. If you leave it here, it may be harder to get out later.”

Instead of a response, the man simply returns to his car and shuts the door. He rolls his window down for communication purposes, telling me what I can do on my end. It’s a struggle, and I’m thoroughly soaked, but we get the car further back along the road, closer to the slope the houses reside on. Turning it to face the slope, however, is more difficult than I anticipate. These boots are too big, and I slip; my hands slide on the car’s slick surface, and I slip; I can’t see what I’m doing, and I slip. The driver takes pity on me and steps out, leaving the door open. “Let me try to push it!” He suggests. I shiver but I don’t respond. Don’t we need someone behind the wheel? We can’t both push, can we? The man seems to understand my hesitation. That, or he’s sick of standing around doing nothing. “You steer, okay? Trust me.” He seems sure of himself, so we switch spots. The second I shut the door, I’m face to face with what appears to be a larger version of Vicchan. The large poodle attempts to tackle me, and I’ll be the first to admit that I squeal rather loudly. The man laughs, glancing down through the window. “She’s harmless! Ready?”

As I’ll ever be. It takes a minute to get used to the mechanics of the strange car; I can tell it’s fairly new, and the gas pedal is much more sensitive than mine. With me behind the wheel, we manage to park in my driveway. Crooked, yes, but it’s there! I hop out and start for the front door. I really should invite him in; he has a dog that deserves shelter, too. “You should come inside!” I offer. I don’t want to invite strangers in my house, but I can’t leave them with nothing. Maybe they can stay in the living room, or even the main house. The man grabs several bags from the backseat of his car and follows me inside. The dogs sniff each other before starting a game of tag down the hallway. My Vicchan is a sweet dog, but I don’t know the other poodle; I’m glad they didn’t find themselves in a fight, or something. “Good thing they get along.” I mumble, removing my glasses. The soaked sleeve of my shirt won’t do any good to dry the lenses, but I use it to wipe the drops to the edges and put them back on. It’s good to see again! My eyes don’t land on the man right away, but when they finally do, my heart stops in its tracks.

“Thank you for your help! I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.” He chuckles, pale skin flushed from the cold. “I feel ridiculous for trying to drive through that.” His fingers brush his silver bangs away from his left eye only for the hair to flop back in place, heavy with rain. “I had no idea the rain would come on so suddenly.” He probably says more, but all I can do is blink; I actually recognize his face. I’d recognize him anywhere, I think. His smile falters at last. “I’m sorry for imposing, but I do appreciate getting out of that storm.” He extends his right hand my direction, grin returning. “I’m Victor—”

“Nikiforov.” As in: the artist I’ve come to admire for over ten years. Standing in my house. That very same Victor. Not for the first time, his smile wavers. His sea blue eyes widen for a brief moment; if I would’ve blinked, I’d have missed it.

“Oh, you…you know who I am?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a fan, maybe?” He grins. I’ve never seen him smile this way. In all of his account pictures on social media, he uses profile shots where he only hints at a smile. I can’t believe he’s looking right at me, or how warm it’s making my face feel. Oh! He asked something. I nod in response. Victor’s hand is still occupying the space between us so I shove mine towards his to avoid being rude.

“I’m Yuri. I—” My eyes dart to our joined hands; I can’t feel our handshake because my fingers are covered in the wet, stretched out fabric of my shirt. Looks like I’m being rude after all. “I’m sorry!” What an excellent impression I’m making on my favorite artist! I pull back, raking my hair away from my forehead. Victor laughs, shaking his head.

“Nothing to be sorry about, Yuri.” He waves my apology away. “We’re both drenched, and you’ve proven yourself quite the hero.” The man winks; Victor literally winks at me. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

“It was nothing.” Apparently, my solution is to disagree with him. I can feel myself slowly dying of humiliation as I stand in front of Victor while he casually sets his designer luggage to the side. Are those really all his? “You brought all of those bags with you?” I blurt like some kind of child lacking a filter. He nods with the smallest of shrugs.

“I was on my way to the coast, and I won’t be home for some time.”

“Oh.”

“So, you recognize me? I don’t post many images of my face, so you’re probably a fan from way back.” He taps his chin thoughtfully, seeing right through me. “Am I right?” Victor smirks.

“I guess you could say that.” I absently scratch at the back of my neck, eyes cast to my hideous boots. Avoiding bumping him, I toe them off at the door. “If you’d like, you can leave your shoes here, too. I’m sorry they got so ruined.” The leather of his shoes shine through caked on mud, the hems of his pants damp and covered in dirt. Maybe he should’ve stayed in the car; he could’ve stayed cleaner. He does as I suggest, standing in front of me again. I’ve never had a houseguest; do I handle this like getting a new boarder back home? “So, Victor, I…” I wring my elongated sleeves, twisting the fabric in my fists, while my brain tries to find anything appropriate to say. “I wouldn’t feel right leaving you out there. I don’t think you can get to town, and even if you could, there aren’t any hotels.”

“Really?” Victor taps his bottom lip, arms crossed. “I only pulled off the freeway to stop for the night, but I guess I should’ve done research.” Even though he’s chiding himself, his smile remains.

“It’s a horribly small town.” I nod. “Anyway, I don’t have much to offer you. Like, in regards to shelter, I mean.” I gesture to the space around us. “There’s the sofa, or the floor? The main house shouldn’t have any furniture in it, so it’d be the floor there, too. Um…” Yes, I really just offered my favorite artist the floor as a bed. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything more, but—”

“You apologize too much, Yuri.” Victor drags his things towards the sofa, still destroying my brain activity with his smile. “I’m an uninvited stranger; the sofa is more than enough for the night.”

“It may actually be several nights.” I correct him. His smile is replaced by a frozen gasp.

“What?”

“Yeah, um, the rain is supposed to last more than a day, and I was told that there may be flooding. That includes the bridge to town, so…yeah.” I hate to be the one to break this news to him, but the sooner he realizes he’s stranded with some nobody for an undetermined amount of time, the better. I can’t gauge Victor’s expression; his eyes are on the floor where our dogs have settled in a cuddle puddle, mouth in somewhat of a straight line. “I’m sorry.”

“Hm?” He hums, looking back up at me; naturally, my gaze falls.

“I’m sorry. It’s not an ideal situation being stuck here and all, and I can’t offer you more than an old couch and a cup of tea.”

“Oh, tea would be lovely.” Victor smiles politely. “Do you need a hand?”

“No, I’ve got it. The bathroom’s right there, if you want to change. Make yourself at home?” I don’t think I can leave the room fast enough. My hands fumble with the kettle, gripping the edge of the stove. The bathroom door clicks shut, and I can hear the shower running; I’ve never been so grateful for having cleaned a bathroom before. If I can’t have a normal conversation with Victor now, how am I going to survive multiple days with him? I want to text Mari for advice, but she’d only tease me. I could text my best friend, Phichit, but my phone’s still in the bedroom. A long exhale leaves my head hanging as the water heats up. My spine straightens on each inhale. I should be glad to have met my idol; it’s difficult to do when he turns out to be picture perfect in person, though.

“Yuri?” Victor calls from the other room, startling me out of my breathing exercise.

“Yes?”

“May I ask why you have so many books behind your sofa?”

Books? What is he talking about? I frown, abandoning the kettle, and find him leaning over the back of the loveseat. His hair has fallen in his face, a curtain of damp silver, to cover one eye completely. An amused smile adorns his face, scanning the alleged objects. “What books?” To be honest, I hadn’t spared the back of the sofa a single glance; who would? I finally see what he’s talking about when I join him on the couch, leaning over the back: a jumbled mess of bound pages resides against the wall. “Oh, wow!” I laugh. “Those are mine, and my sister’s, from when we were younger.” Our dad would read us stories from the worn hardcovers on especially quiet evenings as our mom would take over the kitchen. My favorites were the fantasy tales; anything can happen when magic, science and the supernatural are involved. I nearly forget myself, but the kettle whistles for my attention. I blush, standing from the chair. “Sorry, I’ll get that for you. How do you take it?”

“Take what?”

“Your tea, Victor.” I prepare a cup for each of us, waiting on his direction. We both take it as is, settling on the couch. His fingers brush mine when I hand the mug over; how cold fingers can make me feel so warm is a pathetic mystery to me. I think it’s just being in the presence of someone so esteemed that’s making it difficult to behave normally. “Sorry.”

“Thank you.” Victor smiles. He’s changed into a pale jumper and heather sweatpants; he doesn’t drink right away, but he nudges me with his elbow. “Your shower’s nice and warm. You should get out of those wet clothes, too, unless you want to catch a cold.”

“I will before heading to bed.” I sip from my mug, careful not to slurp.

His eyes pass over the lack of furnishings and empty walls. “Did you move in recently?”

“Very.” Well, that’s sort of true. “Actually, I don’t live here all the time.” My fingers tingle from the warmth of the cup; it’s a pleasant feeling. “My family used to come here in the summer, but everything has to be out by next month. I’m supposed to be packing, but I only got here this afternoon.”

“Why does everything need to be out?”

“They sold it. Someone’s already bought it, actually.” It took an astonishingly short amount of time for this place to leave the market; people like the solitude and position by the river. “I don’t mind.” I shrug. It’s easy enough to converse with Victor when he has so many questions.

“I see.” He nods. “Why did you travel alone?”

“I’m not alone; I brought Vicchan.” As soon as the words come out, I regret speaking them. Even though Victor laughs, my face burns; or maybe it’s because he laughs that my face reddens. I shake my head. “My parents had to work, and my sister suggested I make the trip in the first place. I guess I was the only available Katsuki for the job.”

“Is this a special place to you, then?”

“No.” I answer too quickly. “Not the best memories.” I mutter. My tea is nearly gone. I set it on the coffee table, scooting myself closer to the arm of the sofa to stay out of Victor’s way. A streak of lightning brightens the room, making me jump more than its accompanying thunder does. His dog leaps onto his lap, whimpering softly. Victor nudges me again, reaching over to make contact.

“Are you scared of the storm, Yuri?”

His small smile tells me he’s not serious; the way his free hand cradles his dog tells me he’s been through a storm or two before with said pet. Vicchan is curled up at my feet; he isn’t afraid of much, which worries me if I think about it too deeply. “Only if I run out of food and can’t get to town.” I wonder if he’s eaten; his dog could be hungry, too. “Are you and your dog hungry?”

“She’s hungry.” Victor sets his cup aside to squeeze the poodle’s face. “Aren’t you, Makkachin?”

“Did you bring food for her?”

“Of course.” He laughs, standing with her. “Thanks for reminding me. I’ll be right back.” Victor leaves the room, but his voice carries. “We were in the car all day, so I was only able to give her treats.” I used to spoil Vicchan the same way until his belly grew; we had to do twice as much running to get him back into shape, and now his diet is very limited. It’s hard to resist slipping him table scraps, but I know it’s in his best interest to hold back. The familiar plink of dry food against a bowl doesn’t even rouse Vicchan; he’s too tired.

“Past your bedtime, I see?” I mumble as I pull him up into my lap.

Victor strolls back into the living room a moment later, after Vicchan makes himself comfortable. “What do you do for a living, Yuri?” He asks when he sits back down, angled to face me.

There are many ways I can answer this question; I decide on the vaguest option. “I help my family run the boarding house we live in.”

“How do you do that?” Victor cocks his head to one side. Vicchan climbs closer to him, sniffing at the air, before licking his hand. Victor laughs; his smile is different than the others he’s shown me: this smile reaches his eyes, and exaggerates the heart-shape of his mouth. He takes Vicchan into his arms, tapping his little nose with one finger. “He’s precious. Makkachin was only this small as a puppy.”

I can hardly imagine the large dog being so small. “That’s as big as he’ll ever get.” I can’t help but smile; Vicchan loves the attention. “I mostly keep track of finances, but I also manage the place. Put my business degree to use.”

“That’s smart. I should’ve gone to university.”

“You didn’t?” I thought everyone attended at least college after graduating high school. It seems like the most logical thing to do. Victor shakes his head but doesn’t elaborate. Vicchan’s eyes start to stay shut for longer bouts of time, cozy enough in the stranger’s arms to doze off. “He’s tired from the drive.”

He smiles apologetically; I had no idea he smiled so much in real life. “I don’t mean to keep you both up.”

“I imagine you need rest, too.” I prepare to stand, exhaustion taking over. Then again, we haven’t discussed house rules or plans, or anything, yet; I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t know him or what he expects during this weather lockdown. I turn to Victor; he tears his gaze from my dog to lock eyes with me. “So, I have some work to do in the morning. I can make something to eat for us, but then I’ll be busy. Do you have anything to do tomorrow?” Can that be misconstrued? I shake my head. “I mean, you may not be able to go anywhere, and unless you like being out in the rain, you’ll probably be stuck inside all day. You’ll…be fine, right?”

“You worry too much.” Victor smirks, then shrugs. “What work will you be doing, if I may ask?”

“I haven’t been in the main house yet, so I need to see what’s in there. Then I can figure out the next step to getting it all packed in the trailer.”

“I’d be happy to help.” His smile returns. Help me rummage through dusty old rooms and their various contents? Why would he want to help me with that? I don’t even want to do that! I start to shake my head.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that.”

“It’s the least I can do.” Victor insists. “You’re doing so much. At the least, let me tag along to keep you company. Vicchan can’t be that good of a conversation partner.” He jokes, hugging the little poodle to his chest. “If I get bored, I can always work on something of my own.”

I finally stand. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Yuri.” Victor passes Vicchan back to me. “I’m sure.”

There’s still the matter of setting up some boundaries, but I’m not sure how to bring up the subject. There has to be a polite way of saying: don’t go through my things and turn me into a maid. “Since my family has things here, and I…hardly know you, I ask that you respect their privacy, and—”

His laugh interrupts my awkward demands. “Don’t worry! I’m not going to snoop through your things. I probably won’t leave this room much, in fact. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Well…” I’d love to trust him; he’s been my favorite photographer since I can remember, but the fact is that Victor’s still a stranger in my temporary home. I don’t say this to him. Instead, I nod and allow a small smile to speak for me. “Thank you for understanding.” In the closet, there are a few blankets, and I give Victor one of my pillows. I feel terrible forcing a grown man to curl up on a couch as a bed, but the other options are the floor or his car; Victor doesn’t complain. I shower and change while he settles in. When I return, his legs are extended the length of the loveseat beneath the blankets; he’s leaning against the arm, playing with Makkachin by batting at her face and paws. Her tongue hangs out happily while he laughs. Victor doesn’t notice me until he follows her gaze over his shoulder.

“Hey, Yuri, can I read one of the books back here?” Victor tilts his head the direction of the book stash. I find it difficult to hold back a smile; they’re mostly children’s books.

“If you don’t mind juvenile fiction.” I yawn. “Go right ahead.”

He hums an acknowledgement. “Going to bed now?”

I nod, taking only two steps into the room. “Yeah. I don’t plan on waking up too early, but I apologize if I wake you.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, then.” Victor seemingly ignores my apology, smiling with a nod. I turn to leave, but he says my name. I nod for him to continue. “Before you go, I want to thank you for allowing me to stay here.” He pulls Makkachin to his chest, eyes on her while his hands bury in her fur. “It means a lot to me that you helped us.” I’m not used to hearing him speak so softly. “Even more that you allowed me into your home.” He smiles when he faces me again. “So, thank you, Yuri. I really appreciate it.”

“Really, it’s nothing.” I shrug. “Anyone would’ve done the same thing.”

Victor’s eyes turn cold, even though his smile remains. “That’s not true.”

There’s more on his mind than he’s sharing; I can see that from here, but I don’t dare ask him for more information. I shrug again, gesturing over my shoulder towards my bedroom. “Well, I’m going to sleep now. If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“Goodnight, Yuri.” He waves one of Makkachin’s paws at me. I laugh, but wave back.

“Goodnight, you two.” I turn on my heel back into the hall. That’s when it hits me: I have ten of Victor’s photos hanging in plain sight! Did he see them? If he had, he probably would’ve excused himself to go sleep in the car, rather than be stuck in the house with a crazed fan. Great. In a rush, I pull the frames off the wall, stacking them in my arms. I almost drop the pile on my way to my bedroom, fumbling to lock the door. The prints get dropped unceremoniously on the floor of my closet; I quickly toss an old throw blanket over them and peek over my shoulder, as if Victor might see what I’ve done. Just to be sure my actions go unseen, I shut the light off. With an exaggerated sigh, I flop face down on the bed to hide my blushing face in the sheets. Vicchan climbs on my back, making himself at home near my waist. “Victor Nikiforov is in my house, sleeping on my sofa.” My voice gets muffled, and I’m glad. I have to lift my head up for air eventually, sighing dramatically and rolling onto my back. I lift Vicchan above me, elbows locked. “I can’t believe this is happening. We met Victor Nikiforov today, and he held you like you’re his own.” I hug him under my chin. “I wonder if he’ll take any pictures while he’s here.” I imagine he may, since shadowing me will surely grow boring for him. “He won’t steal anything, right? He doesn’t seem like that kind of person. I mean, you saw how he was with Makkachin.” Anyone who treats their pet with such tenderness can’t be a thief; I can’t imagine otherwise. “Oh, I should tell Phichit. He’ll never believe me!” I chuckle. I grope the side table in the darkness, searching for my phone. When I find it, I send a text to my best friend: ‘You will never guess whose car got stuck in the mud outside the house here…’

Phichit’s always on his phone; he teaches drawing classes at our old university, and even his students know how attached he is to the device. He replies right away: ‘OMG who?? I don’t have time to guess, just tell me!!!’

‘If I tell you, you have to believe me, okay?’

‘Fine fine just spill it!’ I can practically imagine the eye roll he’d give when I read his reply. I smile to myself. Phichit has been with me through some tough times; we were roommates all four years of university, and we don’t live very far from each other in the city. It’s nice to have someone I can talk to at any hour of the night, and receive unrelenting positivity. He knows all about my trip here, and encouraged it alongside my mom and sister.

I reply: ‘VICTOR NIKIFOROV’ He doesn’t reply immediately, so I send another text: ‘And his dog!’

Phichit sends so many emojis, even some that’re irrelevant but included in the message anyway. He finally sends a message that makes sense: ‘That’s unbelievable!! Now you can pick his brain and get to know him personally while you have the chance :))))' I hadn’t thought to tell Victor about my old dreams of becoming a photographer; who would mention their failures to their idol? I don’t think I’m going to tell Victor about that; I don’t need to go over that pain again. Phichit sends another text: ‘Not that I’m pressuring you to be artsy!! Just think about what you could learn from him…’

Maybe I’ll bring it up tomorrow. Or perhaps it’s a subject better left alone unless it comes up. I reply: ‘He’s not as scary to talk to as I thought he’d be…so maybe. I’ll let you know what happens.’

‘!!!!!!!!!!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, there will be more Phichit in the future hahha Don’t forget to PM any mistakes and read, review and whatever you like! Next chapter, you’ll finally get to see what’s in the main house~


	3. House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semicolons are my jam, yo. Know what else is my jam? Reading reviews and comments from y’all XD Since this is my first fic, it’s really helped to ease my anxieties so thank you kindly!

It isn’t easy to get through the breakfast dishes; I keep yawning every ten seconds, and I don’t know if I should blame Phichit, Mari or this town’s train schedule. Every night, a conductor rolls along the tracks that cross through town; they make damn sure to use their horn every time I start to slip into a dream, only adding to the rhythmic rumbling. If that wasn’t enough, Phichit’s texts were frequent and insistent, dying to know every little detail about Victor; what he sounds like, looks like, acts like. When he finally gave up the interrogation, I drifted off to sleep. Unfortunately, he spilled my tea to my sister; she called just a couple hours later to remind me that Victor could be some kind of monster, and I’m lucky to still be standing. Her interrogation, over a call and not via silent texts, kept me up for another couple of hours; Mari’s voice can be very abrasive, and it took the drowsiness right out of me. Even though I did get a bit more sleep afterward, I still woke up irritated; I’m not stupid: I know Victor’s a stranger, but I don’t feel like I need to be afraid of him. His car simply got stuck outside my house, and he needed shelter in the middle of a storm; I don’t see how he could have bad intentions and I don’t think I need to be wary of him. Victor’s in the living room with our dogs; he offered to help me with the dishes, but I’m just about through with them. Breakfast was somewhat quiet, and I answered all of his questions about how I learned to cook and why green tea is my favorite tea, and I learned that he likes black tea and wishes he could cook better. The rain hasn’t stopped; I can hear it dripping off the eaves on the other side of the window above the sink. At home, my room is on the second floor: I’m not used to being able to hear rain this way. “Yuri?” Victor’s accented voice is coated in laughter.

Finally finished with the dishes, I toss the dish towel on the counter and step through the doorway. Victor’s on the floor, getting attacked with kisses by Vicchan and Makkachin, batting his limbs with their paws, tails wagging in the air. I can’t help but laugh at the sight. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if you’re almost ready to go out.” Victor giggles; a grown man, giggling in my living room. I feel like I should be intimidated around him, but then he sits up, hugging Vicchan, and kisses the top of his head; it’s rather disarming. How can Victor be so absurdly adorable? His online photo galleries evoke feelings of confidence and triumph, awe and strength; never had I imagined my favorite photographer would wear oversized jumpers and cuddle with poodles.

“Just about.” I nod, remembering how to speak again. My cardigan sleeves no longer need to be rolled up; I pull them down and gesture at him. “Are you ready? Do you have an umbrella?”

He blinks upon standing. “For what?”

My first instinct is to laugh; he can’t be serious! My second instinct is to stand in stunned silence; not a trace of insincerity can be found on his face: he is serious. “Uh, the rain? It’s not stopping anytime soon.”

“A little rain never hurt anyone.” Victor smiles. “I’ll follow you.”

Victor hums to himself while I put on my windbreaker and rainboots and grab an umbrella. “If you like, you can play music on your phone, or something, while we’re there.” I shrug, shutting the door behind us. He agrees with a smile and a nod so he won’t have to stop humming. The rain and wind are just as aggressive as last night, tugging at the umbrella in the wrong direction. Naturally, I mumble a curse and begin the walk down the path, determined to stay dry under the inverting umbrella. Is Victor trying to stay under it, too? When I turn, he’s no longer following me; he’s standing in the middle of the muddy walkway, arms outstretched, face to the sky. Victor’s smile is reminiscent of the one he had when he said goodnight; a warmth adds color to his complexion, the corners of his mouth turn up, his eyes sparkle with joy. He seems too comfortable to disturb; his chest rises and falls, khaki coat darkening with moisture. That trench coat can’t possibly be helping him stay warm. “Victor!” My voice only makes him laugh, lowering his arms to his sides. Doesn’t he realize he’ll get sick if he stands in this kind of weather like that? I drag my feet back over to him and reach out, gripping his sleeve. Victor’s smile grows when our eyes lock; the tip of his nose is the same pink as the color dusting his lips and cheeks. Did he ask me something? I can’t remember. His smile short-circuits my brain; not the flashy grin I first saw, but that sincere expression that emphasizes his cupid’s bow. I wonder if he realizes he has different smiles at all.

“After you, Yuri.”

Victor might stall again and I won’t be blamed for him catching a cold, so I drag him behind me to the porch of the main house. I fumble with the key more than once, unable to steady it enough to unlock the door; Victor remains silent and I’m grateful. Once inside, we leave our shoes and jackets near the front door, the row of hooks still jutting out from the wall as I remember it. Yes, they’re crooked; my dad had something to prove by installing them on his own, but ended up botching the project just enough for us to tease him about it later on. With a small smile, I shake my head and look over the place: the living room is to my right, the dining room straight ahead beyond the doorway, a hall to my left. The tawny paint has dulled to a grey on every wall, dust adorning the base near the hardwood floors. The wood once shined but now sits below scratches and scuffs, blanketed with dirt. My mom was very adamant about sweeping and polishing these floors; I was always very careful to hastily step on it with clean socks to maintain the pristine appearance. I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. My eyes wander over to the bookshelf, occupied by only a few remaining paperbacks. The shelves bow at the middle with phantom weight, warping the once straight lines. I walk over, running my finger along the spines of the forgotten books: photography basics, color theory, a couple novels. “How did we forget these?” I wonder out loud. Victor stands nearby, but not within reach.

“Maybe somebody wanted to read them and left them unpacked.” He suggests.

“Yeah.” I stack them on top of the shelf; they’ll be easier to pack this way. An envelope, stained with age, slips out from between the books; I scurry to pick it up, shoving it under the stack. Conspicuous behavior, perhaps, but I have my reasons. “Maybe.”

“Are they yours?”

It’s hard to say if he guessed this randomly, or if he sensed it, but I nod. “Yes. I hadn’t…” Why do I feel compelled to tell him more than what he asked? “I hadn’t thought about these books since we left.” I start for the dining room, connected to the kitchen. “Of course, that was twelve years ago, so it makes sense.” The back door is bolted shut, partially covered by a few boards. Our dad would drag Mari and I through that back door when he tired of running around with us in the sun; our mom would greet us, saying she brewed some hot tea. When she saw our dejected faces, she’d laugh and admit that it was actually iced tea. A laugh escapes my lips before I can cover my mouth to suppress it. Victor smirks, raising an eyebrow.

He asks, “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking about my family.” I point to the unusable door. “After being in the sun all afternoon, my dad would bring my sister and me inside. Our mom would ask, ‘Who wants some hot tea?’” I shake my head; it’s rather silly, but makes me laugh regardless. “We didn’t want to be rude, or ungrateful, but she noticed how bothered we were.” Victor leans against the counter by the sink but I stay by the door. “I mean, it was hot out and she made hot tea? Anyway, she’d start to laugh and then tell us she was joking and pull out a pitcher of iced tea instead.” Victor laughs with me; it’s easier to laugh when you have someone to do it with.

“She’d really do that?” He asks, smile taking on that genuine form. I nod.

“She would. I can’t believe we believed her so many times.” I shake my head. “I’ve never been here when it isn’t summer.” In my experience, this town had hot days and warm nights; the constant rain hasn’t gotten any easier to get used to. The window at the sink is smudged with what looks like grease; I step around Victor to wipe it off to little avail. He’s standing so close to me, I can smell the shampoo we’re sharing mixing with rain, and his natural scent. I shouldn’t be so perceptive of such things, but it’s hard not to notice when we’re nearly standing shoulder to shoulder. Victor strains to look out the glass.

“It’s hard to see out there.” He mutters.

There isn’t much to see, but I can make out the old bird feeders and bird baths. They’re broken and drowning out there. “What’s to see?” I sigh. “It’s just rain.”

“You don’t like the rain?” Victor isn’t smiling anymore.

I shrug, opening and closing cabinets around the room; they house emptiness and a few dead insects. “Not really. I’m not used to it, either.” I gesture at the window. “It’s not a sight to die for. Just a bunch of falling water.”

He hums in thought. “That’s an interesting take on it.” Victor smiles again, moving to the dining room. “You’re an interesting one, Yuri.”

“Is that so?” I scoff. I think I need to see what’s down the hallway. My parents’ old bedroom is at the far end of the corridor to the left; on the right, there’s a small storage room and a bathroom. Victor follows me to the hall, nodding in response.

“Absolutely.” I don’t respond for multiple reasons, one being that I’m busy. At a first glance, the bathroom looks empty. Opening the cabinets and drawers under the sink, though, proves otherwise: musty paper towels, hair pins, cotton balls and dehydrated sponges litter the hidden spaces. Pulling the items out doesn’t take long; I stack them in a pile in the dried out sink. The place has running water, I’m sure, but it’s not like I’m going to use the fixtures in here. In the corner, the tub remains useless; even in its prime, it never worked right. Both hot and cold knobs produced icy water and the pressure was more like a draining garden hose than a faucet. I once tried taking a relaxing bath in it, only to wind up more frustrated at the lack of warmth. I kick the tub without much force and leave the room altogether. “Yuri?” Victor chuckles.

“Yeah?” My memories carried me far from the other man; I nearly forgot he was here. A blush paints my cheeks, so I turn to walk down the hall. Victor doesn’t need to see my embarrassment every time the feeling comes up.

“What was that about?” He smirks.

Luckily, there’s nothing in the storage room but empty boxes and old, defunct suitcases. “I hate that bathtub.” When I turn to face Victor, his sea-hued eyes sparkle but he remains silent. I take it as a cue to elaborate further. “It never worked! The damn thing wasn’t connected to the water heater, and the pressure sucked.” He laughs, but I’m being serious. I open the door to my parents’ old room. “I’m not joking! You try relaxing in a slow-filling tub of ice water.”

“You know in some places, people relax in ice saunas.” Victor’s laughter subsides.

The room is empty, save for the pile of broken glass from the far window; a tree branch remains stuck halfway through it, cast aside by the storm. “That can’t be accurate.” I shake my head. I hope the closet is empty, too; something about packing my parents’ clothing seems so final, so somber. Victor’s chuckle keeps my hand on the doorknob, but stops me from turning it. “Are you joking, Victor? I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true.” He smiles, but I just smirk. “Trust me.”

I pull the closet door open, relieved to find it bare. A breath I’d been holding releases. Well, until Victor points upward at the shelf. “What?” I frown.

“What’s that up there?”

“I don’t see anything.” I turn on my heel and walk the opposite direction.

I can’t see him, but Victor makes a funny sound, like he’s strained or putting too much effort into a task; I imagine he’s trying to grab at whatever it is he saw. When I turn back around to see what the hell he’s doing, a rustling bundle of cloth cascades to the floor. He stares at the pile of fabric at his feet, pulling it against his jumper; the faded material falls near his knees, the garment’s shape forming in front of me. “A dress?” Victor’s voice is quiet. This dress is one that I’d forgotten, either on purpose or without realizing it. I reach out, skimming the fabric with the very tips of my fingers. It belongs to my mom, handed down to her from an aunt. The lavender satin boasts multiple stains near the hem with dusty patches scattered along the sleeves. I brush at the beads at the waist, knocking a few of them to the floor; I didn’t know the threads were ripped there. “Yuri?” Victor checks with me when I crouch to pick up the beads. They’re too small to collect individually, so I sweep them into my palm. “Are you okay?”

His eyes shine with confusion; I suppose I have been ignoring his comments and questions, but the dress threw me off. The last time my mom wore it, I’d been photographing her on the porch. The sun was at its zenith, very few clouds in sight. She sipped her tea with the faintest of smiles while my dad and Mari played a card game on the lawn. I thought I was capturing something lovely and inspired; the images came out imbalanced, laced with a phoniness I couldn’t bear to look at. Maybe I shouldn’t have deleted the pictures. Maybe I should have tried to edit them into something presentable. “I’m fine.” I nod once.

“I don’t mean to pry, but…” Victor hands me the dress, folded into a mound of pale purple. “Whose dress is this?” He sits with his legs crossed. About a foot separates us when I sit, too.

“It’s my mom’s.” I set the dress aside. “I don’t want to bore you with another story.”

Victor shakes his head, a grave look passing over his face. “Oh, no! Your stories are anything but boring.” Why he’s trying to flatter me is a mystery. He smiles softly. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear it.” Victor grabs at his knees; he looks like a child, waiting to be indulged with a fairytale. If he’s really interested, I don’t see the harm in telling him about what’s on my mind.

“Well.” My throat doesn’t need to be cleared, but I do it anyway. Victor’s smile is impossible not to return. “So, my mom’s aunt had a fascination with the color purple…” The story I tell him is a true story, but it isn’t the one the dress first produced. Victor seems to enjoy it enough, going so far as to ask for more tales from my life. He asked about my other family members, what my home is like, why my parents chose this town for a summer house. After the first story, Victor used his phone to play soft music to fill the space around my words; it’s still playing as I finish telling him about why the guesthouse is light blue. “It may not look like it now, but the sky in the summer really is a light blue like that.” I insist, leaning on the heel of my left hand, legs curled to my right. His smile is soft, like if I’ve been reminding him of his own past rather than mine. Victor’s lying down on his side, head resting in one hand. If someone were to tell me the day before yesterday that I’d be casually chatting like this with a famous photographer, I never would’ve believed them. I’m finding it hard to fathom with the man in front of me, in fact.

“What’s your favorite memory here?” Victor asks, rolling onto his stomach.

“My favorite?” He nods at my question. I hum in response. “Let me think.” There are more terrible memories at front of my mind, but good ones? “Well, there was the time we put up the rope swing.” I can’t remember the last time I thought about that day. “I was eight, and Mari was fifteen, so she was bored of just treading water in the river.”

“You mean the one that’s flooded right now?”

“That’s the one.”

Victor smirks, holding back a laugh. “Sorry. Go on.”

“She found this old rope in the garden and dragged it out to the water. Our dad helped her tie it up on a big tree branch and knot it at the end. It took, like, two seconds for her to climb up and swing into the water. It looked really fun, but I wasn’t the bravest little kid.” I’m not the bravest adult, either, but I don’t mention this. “She teased me about how great it was and how much of a baby I was being, and said I should try it. I mean, I wanted to, but I just couldn’t.” I shrug.

Victor sits up, tucking his legs under him. “You didn’t end up trying it?”

“Well, not at first.” I laugh. “I mean, I was really scared! I thought I’d get caught in an invisible current.” Of course, that’s ridiculous but a child’s brain can conjure up anything and accept it as a viable possibility. Victor’s laugh comes from deep down; it encourages me to continue the story. “I finally climbed up and started swinging on the rope. You know, to get momentum? But I didn’t know when to let go, and I just kept holding on.” My knuckles had been white, my eyes wide with terror, and I just kept swinging back and forth from the bank to over the water. Mari yelled at me to let go, but I froze in place.

“You were that afraid?”

“Entirely.” Nodding, I find myself smiling; it’s a fond memory now, but I haven’t mentioned the good part to Victor yet. “Mari kept yelling at me that it was okay, it would be fine, I was safe. At first, it was confusing; my sister was a teenager, and I’m just her scared kid brother, so what’s she doing being so encouraging? But then she said she wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me, and if I hated it, we would go do something else.”

“That’s so sweet!” Victor’s sudden grin is infectious; it’s impossible to not smile when he makes that face. All at once, I’m nervous and relaxed. Hard to tell which is making me blush.

I agree with him, sitting up and hugging my knees. “So I finally jumped in the water, and I remember feeling so…full of life, and like I could do anything.” Oh no, I sound stupid, don’t I? I shake my head with a slight pang of embarrassment. “Ugh, that sounds absurd, I know. I probably sound like a child, I’m sure.” My laugh sounds forced and pained; it only darkens my blush. “It’s just that it felt good to do something scary, especially since it ended up being so fun, and my sister was there for me and—”

“Yuri.” Victor interrupts my rambling. “You don’t sound like a child.”

“I don’t?”

“Of course not.” He smiles again. “Your favorite memory here isn’t a childish thing. I liked that story very much.”

I’m not sure how to respond, so I stare at my joined fingers at my knees. Maybe I wasn’t expecting such kind feedback, or maybe I simply don’t believe him. “You must be easy to entertain, I guess.” I shrug. Suddenly, Victor laughs; it’s loud and quickly dies to a chuckle, but it’s enough to pull my eyes to his. He shakes his head.

“That is definitely not the case, but it’s nice of you to think I’m that insouciant.”

“I don’t mean indifferent, I mean agreeable.”

“You’re probably the first person to ever call me that.” Victor taps his chin. He seems to be thinking deeply, so I return my eyes to my thumbs. My old bedroom is upstairs, where we have yet to set foot. I don’t think I’m ready to see what may be hiding in my closet. Since I have plenty of time here, the top floor can wait to be explored another day. I mean, it’s not like I mind procrastinating this chore and I’m sure Victor is dying to get back to his dog.

Speaking of dogs, I need to check on Vicchan. “We better go check on the dogs. I bet they’re ready to run outside.” I mention upon standing. Victor turns his music off and stands, too.

“Does yours like to splash in puddles?”

We head back to the front room to redress. “Not too much. He’s very curious, though, so he’s probably more interested in sniffing around the puddles rather than stepping in them.” For a second, I wonder if I need to physically pull Victor behind me again so he can keep up, but he walks alongside me this time.

“You’re lucky. If Makka isn’t on a leash, she’ll splash in all the puddles.” Victor shakes his head.

“Why?” I can’t help but notice he isn’t under the umbrella with me, even though it hasn’t stopped raining. One look at the sky makes me grateful to have found the umbrella in the first place; the clouds are precisely what come to mind when I think of the word grey. To think that some people are put at ease by such gloomy weather. To each their own, I guess.

Victor pouts with a short sigh. “Playful; she’s always been that way. I don’t think she realizes her age or size with the messes she gets herself into.” His expression is quickly replaced with a tired smirk. “But I wouldn’t change a thing about her.”

“She seems like a sweet dog.” I admit once we’re back in the guesthouse. Our conversation lulls as we take the poodles out to the backyard, leashes tight. A few pale wooden fence posts rattle in place with the wind, almost like they’re as cold as I am. Spring in the city isn’t what I’d call cold, so I didn’t think to bring a scarf or heavier coat. I should’ve done my research on the weather here. Vicchan will probably sleep under the covers with me until the weather improves. If he was the size of Makkachin, I could even use him as a blanket. Did Victor have enough blankets last night? Now that we’re settling back inside, I decide to ask. “Victor?”

“Are we going back to the other house?” He asks, still in his shoes by the door.

“I don’t plan on it. I have time to finish exploring later.”

Victor nods and takes his shoes off, hanging up his sopping trench next to my windbreaker. He frowns at me, arms crossed. “Sorry, Yuri.” Wait, he’s apologizing? I’m beginning to think I said something wrong. “You were about to say something, and I interrupted. Go on.”

“Oh.” I assumed he hadn’t heard, but I guess I was wrong. “Right. Um, were you warm enough last night? There isn’t any heating and it’s not as warm as I thought it’d be here.”

“You already asked me how I slept.” Victor chuckles, making himself comfortable on the sofa. The blankets and pillow he used are folded and stacked neatly at the arm nearest him. “Remember? We were having breakfast.”

“Yeah, but…specifically, do you have enough blankets?”

“Yes, Yuri, I’m fine.” He nods. “You’ve given me more than enough, and I appreciate it.” Victor’s smile isn’t enough to make me change my mind; there has to be another blanket around here somewhere that I can give him. “Though I’d really like some tea. Would you like some?” He brushes against my arm on his way to the kitchen, leaving the spot warmer than it should be.

“Sure. I’ll actually be right back.” I gesture in the direction of my room. “I need to make a call.”

“Do you mind if I make some lunch, then?”

“No, go right ahead.” I showed him where everything in the kitchen is this morning; he seemed excited to be getting a tour of the cabinets and refrigerator. “Help yourself.” We part ways and I shut my bedroom door behind me. After dialing, it doesn’t take long for Mari to answer her phone.

“Are you still alive over there?” Mari deadpans. I don’t think she’ll ever let me live this whole Victor thing down. I roll my eyes.

“Hilarious. I checked out the bottom floor of the main house.”

“Oh yeah? What’re you working with?”

I let an exhale fill the momentary silence; she’s referring to physical aspects, but the first thing that comes to mind is the unpleasant memory the dress dragged up. “There’s a broken window, and everything is dirty as hell.”

“Sounds fun. Anything left behind?”

Sometimes I wonder if she can read my mind, but then I remember that I’m fairly transparent. “Mom’s old lavender dress.” Mari doesn’t say anything at first. “Some of the beads started falling off. It’s dirty, too.”

“No way!” Mari knows what happened the last time our mom wore that dress. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“That thing is so old. I bet it’s still kinda pretty, though.” She scoffs.

“Victor thought so.”

“You took him with you?!”

Oh, did I let that slip out? My face burns, embarrassed. “He was bored, Mari. And he isn’t dangerous. He’s actually rather…nice.” If I’d said sweet, I wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Mari sighs. “Keep an eye on him, alright? He’s a stranger in our house.”

“I know that.” I roll my eyes again. “Why do you think I’m so dumb?” Pretty sure we had a derivation of this conversation earlier. In fact, I’m positive all of this has been covered in full.

“Yuri, I don’t think you’re dumb. You know that.”

“Then why do you keep telling me to watch out, like Victor’s a wanted criminal?”

She sighs again. “It’s not about him; it’s you.” What does she mean by that? I frown, confused. “I know that place isn’t exactly a vacation for you anymore, but…I don’t want you to get distracted from what you’re there to do. Believe me, I get that meeting Victor Nikiforov is huge, but you can’t avoid what’s in that town, or the memories you have there, forever.” Not for the first time today, I find myself at a loss for words. Mari may have good intentions, but she doesn’t understand what it’s like to try and tackle such ugly feelings I purposely hid. “I just worry about you, alright?”

That I can understand. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” The repetition weakens my argument, but I leave it alone as it is.

“Yuri, I made you lunch!” Victor shouts from the kitchen. His words barely reach me, but they apparently ring loud and clear on Mari’s end. She starts laughing, making me turn a deep shade of red. I’m grateful I don’t have a mirror in here.

“Was that Victor?” She asks. My silence is enough of an answer for her. “He made you lunch? Phichit told me you’re surprised at how well you’re getting along, but making you food?”

“If you must know, he’s a very nice person.” I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting him to make me anything, but he’s been nothing but kind to me; it’s not that unbelievable, yet I can’t quite wrap my mind around it. “I’ll finish looking into the main house and update you when I get around to it, like when the weather gets better.”

“Okay, thanks.” Mari laughs. “I’ll let you two get back to your domesticity.”

I shake my head; sometimes she simply can’t help herself. “You’re the worst. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Make sure he doesn’t poison you.” Really, Mari?

“Great advice. I love you.” I wait for her to say it back and hang up before tossing my phone on my bed. I scrub my face under my glasses, trying my damnedest to get the redness to subside. Okay, deep breaths should help and then I’ll head to the kitchen.

“I hope you like cabbage!” Victor’s laugh at the end of his sentence is quite audible. I get the feeling that even if I disliked cabbage, I’d still eat whatever it is he made. This realization only worsens my blush, but my stomach is demanding I get back into the kitchen. Why couldn’t Victor be a pretentious bastard instead of this thoughtful enigma in my kitchen? Life can be strangely cruel; incredibly generous, yet cruel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is coming in a week and our lovely Phichit will make another appearance, so stay tuned for that ^u^


	4. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for more rain; I think there are three more chapters of it. This one was really fun for me to write, BTW; it’s kinda short, but enjoy ~

“—and I’ve asked around, but nobody in the art department knows, like, anything about him. It’s so discouraging.” Phichit whines over the phone. This is minute fifty-four of this call, by the way; most of it has sounded similar, but he was more excited at the beginning and now he’s become dejected and pouty. He saw some guy around campus and instantly became infatuated a month or so ago. I shake my head, trying not to let the smile on my face become too obvious.

“How do you know he’s a professor? Maybe he’s a student.” I swing my legs off the edge of my mattress, planting them but not standing.

“Yuri!” Phichit gasps. “He’s not a student. There’s just no way.”

“Why’s that?”

He sighs loudly and I’m sure he rolls his eyes. “This man wears a dark suit and carries a briefcase around. College students don’t do that, and they certainly don’t look like sexy, brooding gentlemen. If I had a picture of him, I’d send it to you in a heartbeat.”

“Don’t take pictures of strangers.”

“I haven’t! But this man is seriously gorgeous. I saw him yesterday near the teaching building.” Phichit’s sigh is dreamy, like he’s staring at this mystery man as we speak. “He might be in the teaching department, but I’ve seen him around the business building before, too, so maybe he’s in that department. It’s hard to say.”

My socks aren’t warm enough for how cold this afternoon is. I fumble through my duffel, finding a I don’t have a warmer pair that’s clean. “Have you checked the directory online?”

“Of course. I started looking through the teaching profs, but it got so boring and tedious.” I should’ve known Phichit would put his stalking skills to use as soon as he had any usable information. He once suspected an ex of cheating back in college; not only did he find out his hunch was correct, he discovered who it was with, when, and where before the ex could even come up with a cover story. “Not all of the profiles had pictures online, either. I hate that we don’t have an updated, cohesive directory across all faculty.”

I slip a second pair of socks on over the first; I’ve always been weak to the cold, so it’s a good thing the weather should warm up soon. “I guess you’ll just have to wait to get more info on this mystery man before you can do more research.”

“Or maybe I’ll wander into those buildings and ask around, pretending I need a word with him. Does that seem too stalker-y?”

Even though it’s not a joke, I laugh. “Not as much as talking a secret picture of him.”

“Okay, well, I’m in the clear, then.” Phichit laughs. “Speaking of pictures, that one you sent of your dogs is out of focus.”

“That happens.”

“You’re a photographer, Yuri.” Phichit’s tone is less chiding and more disappointed. It doesn’t make the pill easier to swallow. “I know you can take better pictures than that, even on a cell phone camera.”

My body sinks back into the mattress, face toward the ceiling. Phichit means well; I know he does, even if I can’t feel it right now. However, art has always been easy for him and doesn’t leave a bitter taste in his mouth at the mere thought of creating something. It’s my turn to sigh, and I take full advantage. “I’m not a photographer.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“It’s true.” I frown. “That dream is over. It was over before it even started.”

“That’s not true.” Phichit’s tone is softer now. I shut my eyes, imagining his stern face and kind, dark eyes. “I know you still take pictures, even if you don’t show them to the world. Artists aren’t created, Yuri; they’re born, and you can’t deny that you were born artistic.” His words fall around me, mostly bouncing off the protective layer failure made me put up. “You can’t let what other people say about your pictures bother you. I mean, you have to believe in your art on your own.” When I don’t respond, he exhales slowly. “Okay, ignore me. Have you talked to Victor about it yet?”

He says it as if I really plan to discuss my career with my favorite artist. “Absolutely not.”

“Why? It sounds like you’re becoming friends, and you said he’s easy to talk to.”

“He is, but—” Wait, where is Victor? I don’t hear him in the living room anymore, but maybe he’s reading or taking photos. “Hang on a sec, Phichit.” I leave the room, stopping in the hall; the bathroom door is open, so Victor’s not there. The living room is only occupied by Vicchan and Makkachin, napping on the loveseat and by the table, respectively. “Victor?” He isn’t in the kitchen, either.

“Did you lose your guest?” Phichit chuckles.

“I don’t think he’s in here, but he left his dog in the living room.” His shoes are missing by the door, shut but unlocked: he must be outside. I exhale, shaking my head. “I’ll call you back, okay?”

“Only if you’re not busy rescuing your prince from the great outdoors.”

“Phichit, shut up!” Ignoring my burning face, I zip up my windbreaker and slip on my rainboots. It’s raining sheets, but at least the wind has stopped tossing drops in all directions; my umbrella doesn’t struggle to keep its shape. I scan the area, but I don’t see Victor. Where the hell is he, and what is he doing? He’d been on his computer when Phichit called. Did he get bored of being stuck in the house with just me to talk to? I wouldn’t blame him; all I’ve done is retell old memories of people he doesn’t know, and drone on about my mundane life in the city. Who’d stick around for that? As I near my car, I see something…pink. “What the fuck is that?” I blurt. I mean, seriously, what is that bright pink monster parked by my sedan? When I touch the hood, it dawns on me that this is the very same vehicle I helped Victor push out of the mud. In the dark, I mistook it for…I don’t know, a normal color? Anything but pink, really. Well, he clearly didn’t drive off; there’s no way he’d leave Makkachin behind anyway. I shake my head, abandoning the car and walking toward the main house. He wouldn’t have gone in there; there’s nothing of interest, and I locked it when we left. “Victor?” My voice gets swallowed by the pounding rain. “Victor!”

“Yuri?”

I turn, facing the guesthouse again; Victor, a grin plastered on his face, races towards me from the back of the house. Why didn’t I think to look there? “Victor!” I frown. “You’re gonna get sick! What’re you doing out here?” Instead of answering, he laughs and wraps his fingers around my wrist. “What the—”

“Come on!” Victor tugs on my arm. My feet have no choice but to keep up with his, rushing to the backyard. He isn’t wearing a jacket; he’s wearing dark jeans and a striped shirt with sleeves pushed to his elbows, silver hair brushed away from his left eye. Victor drags me to a fallen log, tucked beneath dripping overgrowth. He sits, patting the space next to him. When I shake my head, he pouts; for whatever reason, that’s enough to make me sigh, but oblige. “Listen.” Victor whispers, smiling in that genuinely excited way, eyes shining with glee. I don’t argue; I can feel my pants getting soaked from the drenched log, and my fingers are getting cold, but I remain quiet. As soon as this rain stops, I’ll have to take a look around the property to check on the damages. After a moment, Victor sighs happily; it’s kind of like the way Phichit sighed thinking about that mysterious colleague of his. He pokes my shoulder. “Isn’t it lovely?”

When I turn to him, his eyes are cast to the sky; I can see a strange sadness in them, but mostly there’s a fondness taking over the sea-colored irises. “What?”

“Isn’t it lovely?”

“No, I mean what’re you referring to?”

Victor’s smile grows. “Oh. I mean everything!” He stretches his arms out, gesturing vaguely at the space around us. “Each drop of rain hitting the leaves like tiny little drummers; crickets playing their own tunes like expert violinists; hidden frogs serenading each other in intricate, well-timed beats.” He lets out a short laugh, fixing his eyes on mine. “I mean, can’t you hear the branches of the trees applauding them? It’s wonderful!” Victor’s done it again: he’s left me a speechless, blinking, flushed mess.

“Well.” I clear my throat, averting my gaze. “It’s nature.”

If I thought I was speechless a minute ago, Victor’s silence shows me just how quiet a wordless pause can be. “I mean…yes, that’s true.” He nods. “But can’t you hear how passionate the birds are singing, deep in the trees?”

“I hear them.”

“Yuri.” Victor whines, trying to hold back a laugh. “You are something else, you know that?”

“I doubt it.” I scoff. I have to hug myself to keep warm; the umbrella may be keeping me dry, but it’s doing nothing to raise the temperature.

Victor stands, gesturing for me to stand, too. “Let’s go back inside, shall we?”

While Victor showers, I start making coffee, warmed from my own bathing and change of clothes. I found the pot at the back of the cupboard; it’s been too long since my last cup of coffee. Back in university, it was sometimes the only thing I’d ingest for hours on end and since graduating, I’ve found it helps me stay focused in a way that tea can’t. Phichit says it’s a caffeine addiction, but Mari says it’s all in my head; all I know is that I have emails to answer from my dad and I can use all the help I can get to concentrate. Vicchan follows me from the kitchen to the living room. He settles in beside me as I get comfortable with my phone in one hand, mug in the other. “Let’s see what you’ve got for me, Dad.” One message is about some maintenance issue that involves allowing an electrician to go in each boarder’s room; I’ll have to type up a notice to be handed out to each tenant. Boring; simple enough, but boring. The other message is regarding a boarder’s change in employment, which will change how they can pay rent. “I’m sure we can work something out.” While I can do the math to come up with a new payment plan, I’ll have my dad tell the tenant about it; he’s quite the conversationalist. During one visit to the grocery store here, he started discussing how to tell which strawberries are the right ones to buy with a grumpy old woman; I mean, this lady scowled like she was paid to do it, but once they got to talking, she almost smiled. They carried their discussion over to the register, and the woman suddenly became surly again. When she left, she waved to us, and the cashier commented that she is the crankiest creature to ever live. If anyone can talk new payment plans with a boarder, it’s my dad. The sudden craving for strawberries makes me smile.

“Hey, Yuri.” Victor walks back into the room, humming softly. The instant my eyes locate him, my phone falls to the floor alongside my jaw: water is still dripping from his hair, onto his bare shoulders and back, towel slung over one arm. Why is he half naked in my living room?! I want to be grateful he’s wearing pants, but they’re so low on his hips that it only worsens my blush. Anyone would stare, eyes wide and heart racing, if they saw Victor shirtless, right? Not just me? He rummages through his suitcase, drying his hair with his other hand. Maybe I should look away; his tastefully toned arms won’t let my eyes leave, though. This isn’t good; I hardly know this man, and have no right to feel this…attracted to him, especially being merely a lump of boring fat in comparison. Victor stands with a jumper in hand, drying off his sculpted chest; then I realize he’s looking at me. Naturally, I look away to pick up my phone, nearly bashing my head into the coffee table. “Forgot to grab a shirt.” He explains.

It’s taking all of my energy to not watch Victor pull the jumper on, so I relent; it’s almost a shame he has to dress at all. “I made coffee.” Of all the words on the tip of my tongue, those are the most rational.

“That sounds perfect! Thanks.” Victor grins. Makkachin trails him to the kitchen. “Did I interrupt something? You look preoccupied.” He says from the other room. I rub my eyes, knocking my glasses askew. I forgot what I’d been doing, actually.

“Um, nothing pressing. Important, but not pressing.”

“Talking to a friend, or lover, perhaps?”

My phone falls to the floor again. I scramble to grab it as Victor walks back in, an amused smile on his face. He sits beside me, sipping his strong brew after Vicchan curls at my feet; it smells black, and looks likewise. I tried black coffee once and just about gagged. “N-no, it’s nothing like that!” I shake my head. “It’s work, a work email.”

“I see.” Victor rests his head on the back of the sofa, exposing the length of his neck. His pale skin is so smooth there, like porcelain; I wonder if it feels as soft as it looks. I bite my lip, resisting the urge to reach over and find out when he readjusts his posture, a soft moan escaping his lips. A shudder rips through me, chasing the thoughts I don’t deserve to have. Victor’s eyes pop back open, eyebrows raised. “Are you cold?”

Only on the outside. I nod once, adjusting my glasses. I have to keep it together; he may be sweet and he may be gorgeous, but that’s not any of my business. “A little.”

“You need more than that tee shirt, even if it has long sleeves.” Victor sets his coffee down, reaching back into his bag. “Are you glad the wind has stopped?” He tosses a pile of chunky yarn at me, and I barely catch it.

“Yeah. What’s this?”

“A jumper.” He chuckles. “The wind was kind of relaxing. It helped me sleep.” Victor reclines back into the couch, cup in hand. “What’s the term? It’s not background noise, or static.”

Wait, am I supposed to wear one of Victor’s jumpers? Extending the material proves that, yes, it’s indeed a wearable garment. I avoid thick knits like this, though; they only make my belly look bigger instead of hiding it. There really isn’t a polite way to say no, but I’m going to try. “White noise. Victor, I can’t accept this. I can just go grab a sweatshirt, or—”

“Nonsense! It’s here, you’re here. I don’t mind.” Victor drinks more coffee, but I just sit in silence. He smiles, reaching over to pat my shoulder. “Go ahead, Yuri! It’ll keep you warm.”

I think he’s too nice for his own good. It’s a wonder he even managed to bring so much clothing. “How did you bring so much stuff? Your bags don’t look that big.” The scent that Victor walks around with is suddenly surrounding me, slightly too large but most likely the most comfortable thing I’ve ever worn. “Thanks, by the way. Very kind of you.” I add.

“I told you, I don’t mind.” Victor smiles at me. “Traveling…comes naturally to me, I suppose. I can fit a lot in my car.”

“Why is your car pink?”

Victor laughs; it’s the kind that spreads to everyone in its radius. “You don’t love my car?”

“It’s bright pink!”

“And yet you don’t love it.”

“I didn’t realize it was that color until earlier, when you were dancing in the rain.”

“I was attending a nature symphony.” He smirks. “And how did you not see it since I got here? It hasn’t changed color.”

I roll my eyes, still smiling. “You don’t say.”

Victor sits up straighter, slightly narrowing his eyes at me. “Did you really think I was dancing in the rain, or are you being sardonic?”

“Mostly the former, only a touch of the latter.” I admit. Victor smiles, giving his coffee some attention. Artists are known for being quirky individuals, but I hadn’t expected as much of Victor. His art made me think that he’d be…inhuman, I guess? A higher being than myself might be more accurate, but either way, I’m starting to see that my assumptions about Victor that I gathered through his art are incorrect; I mistook the splashes of color for intensity instead of enthusiasm, the sharp contrasts for drama instead of appreciation for detail. Victor is vastly different from any of the art students I knew in university. I don’t want to fight to keep him from getting under my skin, but he keeps turning my expectations upside down and gracing me with heart-shaped smiles. I wrap the jumper sleeves over my fingers, cradling my cup of coffee to keep me grounded. There’s no harm in being Victor’s friend, is there? We’re both going our separate ways when the storm’s over, so maybe it’ll be okay for now.

“Yuri.” The pout Victor uses is both endearing and ridiculous. “You can be so brutal, but you make a great pot of coffee. What am I to do?”

“There’s more in the kitchen, if you want.”

Victor grins, finishing off his cup. “Brilliant!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guess who Phichit saw on campus? Hahha it won’t be the last time he mentions his mystery man; I lack self-control sometimes XD Next week’s chapter will be a little different than the previous ones, so look out for that :D


	5. Chores

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don’t know, Victor is my favorite YoI character and I was so amped to write this chapter because IT’S FROM HIS POV hahha enjoy, perhaps?

This town isn’t on a map. It wasn’t on my GPS, either, when the storm hit. I figured the freeway exit would lead to a rest stop, or a city; anywhere I could pull over for the night. I just wanted to get away, and not have to see the familiar faces at the gallery or pretend that I’m inspired to add to the collection. It’s no wonder I’ve run away: the snide comments the other artists utter aren’t said in jest; every word is laced with poison intended to alleviate their own hidden pains. When I was younger, the others seemed so intriguing with their mysterious atmospheres and dark auras; now that I’m older, they just seem bitter. Questions about when my next series of photographs will be revealed only push inspiration further from my grasp; my well is running dry. A visit to my shore house usually eases my mood, sometimes turning the darkness into something beautiful. Fate had a different plan, though, and here I sit: on a stranger’s couch, drinking from a stranger’s mug, cradling a stranger’s dog, waiting on a stranger’s cue. I think the strangest part of it all is that he no longer feels like a stranger; no, he feels more like an old friend that I’ve neglected to visit over time. Yuri feels like someone I’ve known for longer than a week, like someone I met before I shared my art with the world: someone who understands that I’m just Victor.

“Don’t give me that look.” I warn Vicchan. Yuri’s raised quite the charmer, but I won’t give in to his dog this time! Vicchan cocks his head to one side, cracking my resolve. “Please don’t give me that look?” His eyes are so warm; they remind me of his owner’s, which only makes it harder to put my foot down. “I can’t give you another treat, Vicchan. Yuri said you have to stay on a diet.” Vicchan’s little tongue laps at my cheek, entirely demolishing what little conviction I have left. I whine, reaching into my pocket and breaking a dog treat in half. “You can have half, but that’s it! Okay?” I let him eat the forbidden food on the floor, beside my Makkachin. She looks at me with the same eyes she used as a spoiled puppy. I roll my eyes, throwing my head back in exasperation. “Alright, take it!” I toss Makka the other half and shake my head. “I’m the worst.”

“You ready, Victor?” Yuri’s voice proceeds him. He narrows his eyes a bit at me as I stand abruptly from the couch. “What were you doing?”

“Nothing.” I can’t imagine anything but guilt is written on my face, but if Yuri sees it, he doesn’t mention it. He told me to dress in clothes I can do housework in, and has done likewise; the hem of his tee shirt is slightly stained and there are holes in the knees of his jeans. I don’t mean the manufactured kind, either; the denim is thin and the tears are clearly unintentional. Yuri hands me a dust mask and a broom. “Are these really necessary?” I put the mask around my neck, the way he has his. “It didn’t look that bad when we were there.”

“When you start to clean, though, you kick up more dust and crap, and it’s bad for you.” As Yuri gestures, the bucket in his hand sways. “You know, you really don’t have to help me with this.” His eyes fall to the floor in the space between us.

“I know that.” I reassure him. Yuri is too polite for his own good; I wonder what caused him to be this way. The surprised look on his face when he looks back up makes me smile. “I want to.”

“If you insist.” Yuri finally cracks a smile, eyes brightening. “Thank you.”

This man left his warm bed in the middle of the night to help me get my car out of mud in the thick of a storm, then allowed me to sleep in his living room and have access to his kitchen at my leisure; this same man shows me gratitude for leaving him a clean towel. How he doesn’t see that he’s the generous one is beyond me. I follow Yuri to his larger house, what he calls the main house, and listen to his instructions. If I were him, I would’ve set up in this building; it’s bigger, and it seems more like a home than the tiny building we’re staying in. Yuri must have his reasons, but with so many happy stories he’s told me from times spent in the main house, I don’t really understand it. If it’s the main house, then why not stay here? Yuri pulls on a pair of rubber gloves, his mind evidently all business. Business is dreadful, and I look to lighten that burden. “Do you mind if I play music, Yuri?” I ask him. He doesn’t seem to mind the instrumental songs I sometimes have for background noise.

“No, go ahead.” Yuri shrugs. “So, I’ll start in the kitchen. Remember, if you find anything, just put it in a pile on a counter and I can pack it later.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I set my phone on a crooked shelf by the staircase. While he scrubs in the kitchen, I start sweeping in the living room. It doesn’t take long for me to realize that the mask was a brilliant idea; I’m not sure when the floors were last swept, but my guess is several years ago. Yuri said that he last visited twelve years ago, but his parents and sister have returned sporadically to empty the house’s contents since then. I’m thinking maybe Yuri decided not to return because he didn’t want to ruin his memories here; perhaps he felt that coming back wouldn’t live up to what he remembers. How nice to have had such a wonderful childhood, embraced by his loving parents and adoring sister; I envy that. I try not to think about life when I was a child; those thoughts always bring the darkness with them.

“Is this a waltz?” Yuri shouts from the other room. I hadn’t been paying attention to the songs my phone was playing, but pick up on the tune; it is indeed a waltz. I use the broom as a dance partner, waltzing my way over to where Yuri can see me. I think his laughter surprises him; it’s somewhat uncontrolled, a light red covering his face, and I adore it all. “What are you doing?”

“It’s a waltz! I needed a partner, and you look busy.” I continue to dance across the floor, Yuri’s eyes never leaving me from his perch on the counter. He swings his legs, allowing his heels to bump against the drawers there and shakes his head.

“I am busy. Can your dance partner multitask and sweep this floor, too?”

“Maybe.” My attempt to sweep while dancing is a fantastic failure, kicking up dirt and dust and making more of a mess than I started with. Yuri’s laughter reminds me of what happiness sounds like. He pulls his mask down, revealing such a joyful smile that I miss a beat in my own dance; Yuri’s eyes sparkle behind his glasses. The sight is surely a thing of beauty.

“Victor, your partner needs more practice, and you have more sweeping to do.”

“Maybe you should cut in.” I use the broom as it was intended, peeking up to see Yuri hide his blush behind his dust mask. What makes him hide that way?

“I’m busy right now.”

I watch Yuri turn away, back to wiping down the cabinets. If he can’t dance, or if he’s afraid, I won’t force him to join me. The song has changed anyway, and there’s work to be done. “Yes, you have a point there.” I sweep the pile into a corner and take my leave, returning to the living room. This particular tune is one of my favorites! I hum along with the melody, sweeping near the bookshelf. Growing up in Russia, I used to listen to American songs but I had no idea what the words were; humming became my way of taking part in the musical experience, even after learning English and moving on to instrumental pieces rather than lyrical ones. I hum when I’m happy, when I’m scared, when I’m working and when I need help getting out of the darkness. On a particularly upbeat part of the song, I push the broom too hard and knock the top book off the shelf where Yuri left it. The sound makes me jump; I laugh afterward at my reaction, reaching down to pick the book back up. “What’s this?” I mutter to myself. Turning it over shows that it’s an informational volume on photography, the edges worn and bent. I thumb through the dogeared pages; a paper falls to the floor when I reach the back. Only when I grab it do I discover it’s an envelope with crumpled corners; the handwriting is too small and narrow for me to read with my naked eyes. It really isn’t my business, anyway, but learning more about Yuri isn’t easy to resist. I sigh, tucking the letter in the book and replacing it on the shelf.

“This song is nice.” Yuri tells me from behind the wall during a new song. “Is that a bass?”

“Cello.” I correct him. Sometimes the two instruments really sound similar, especially to those who don’t listen to strings often. “Isn’t it delightful?”

“It is.” Yuri replies. I hope he elaborates, but I don’t hold my breath; I continue sweeping down the hallway instead. Most of the conversations Yuri and I have involve me asking questions, but it’d be nice if he felt comfortable enough to speak more without being prompted. Then again, he’s only known me a week; friendship takes time. “I like your music.”

There’s no stopping the grin that spreads across my face; Yuri wants to keep talking to me! And he’s enjoying the playlist I picked. “Well, I’m glad you allowed me to play it for you!”

“For…for me?”

I laugh, imagining Yuri’s face reddening behind his glasses. “I’m certainly not trying to entertain my dance partner.”

“That’s a relief.” Yuri scoffs. “Have you finished the living room?”

“Just about. I’m heading down the hall to do those rooms.” I continue sweeping in the bathroom, the storage room, the bedroom. I roll up my sleeves, wiping the beads of sweat that formed at my hairline. Cleaning is hard work! And I’ve only finished the first floor. I haven’t been upstairs yet, so I take my time climbing the steps; they creak under my weight, thankfully not giving way beneath my feet. I want to grab the railing, but there’s too much dust coating it. Maybe I’ll drag the broom along its length on my way back down. At the top, I count two doors on the left side of the hall, two doors on the right; not too bad. There isn’t any furniture, or any sign that anyone ever lived here. Well, there’s a frame at the end of the hall, beside the last door. Actually, the image looks familiar. I abandon the broom, stepping in front of the frame, and gasp. “Oh my…” To say that I was unprepared for what sits in that frame would be an understatement. Here I am, wandering around Yuri’s home to sweep, and the very first photo I ever released to the public is staring me in the face. There’s no mistaking this image; I press my finger in the corner, over my initials, as if it’ll help me process this moment. “My first piece.” The balloons in the photo are garishly contrasting with the background, the lighting too bright in places and the angle far too stylized; it’s not my best work. I don’t think I ever sold off more than a handful of these prints, adding much more appealing images to my online gallery shortly after its debut, so why this one? I shake my head and turn to leave. Facing the door on the opposite wall, I read the four letters painted on the wood: YURI. My eyes dart from the door to the framed photo, then back again. And back again. He hung my earliest work across from his bedroom? Yuri really is a fan of mine! Anyone who carefully frames and hangs that thing must have a true interest in my art. Not only is it flattering, it’s just about the sweetest thing I can fathom, touching my heart. The butterflies that fill my stomach shock me; I can’t remember the last time someone made my heart beat this way.

“I’m thinking about taking a quick break.” I can barely hear Yuri’s voice, but it snaps me back to reality. Does he know this is up here? Does he know I’m up here? Scrambling, I snatch the broom from the floor and race down the stairs. Yuri isn’t around, so I stand in the kitchen doorway. Oh no, I probably look a mess! I dust off my shirt and brush my hair away from my eyes. Yuri tugs his mask off, piling it on top of the gloves beside him. He’s staring at me. Is there something on my face? I wipe at my nose only to knock my dust mask crooked. Yuri laughs; such an adorable sound.

“Hi.”

“Get a lot done?” Yuri asks, hopping off the counter. He pushes his glasses up his nose and blinks up at me. If I let myself, I could drown in those pools of warm brown. Wait, he asked me a question! My face heats up but I smile anyway, pulling my mask off.

“I think so.” I gesture to the other room. “Finished the first floor. Should I sweep the second, too?”

He shrugs, walking past me to the other room. “Later, I guess.”

I follow him, resting the broom against a wall. “You wanted to take a break?”

“Yeah.” Yuri’s smile is enough to stop my heart; I’m surprised I’m still standing, to be honest. The rosy flush that accompanies it might get me, though. “I think I owe you.”

“Owe me?” I smirk. He’s forgetting he’s the one who allowed me into his life.

“I was busy earlier, so I figure I owe you a dance.”

Yuri can’t seem to stop surprising me. I won’t say I’m displeased; on the contrary, I’m thrilled. “Oh, really?” I change the song on my phone to the same waltz from earlier. “How do you figure?”

“Well, you were dancing with a broom.”

His tone is so serious, I can’t help but laugh. When I first met Yuri, I didn’t think we’d be sharing so many laughs. I also didn’t expect to grow so fond of him in so little time. “I see your point.” I extend a hand his direction, but he hesitates to grab it. The tips of Yuri’s fingers are cold, but his palm is warm and soft. Our hands haven’t really touched before; I don’t want to let go but I also don’t want to pressure him to hold on. “Let me lead?” Yuri remains silent, but I need an answer. “Trust me?”

Finally, Yuri smiles with a nod. “Okay.” I rest my other hand on his waist, gently settling in the curve there; warmth seeps through his shirt against my fingers while his find my shoulder. Yuri’s hand may be steady, but there’s no mistaking the trembling there. Whether he’s scared, nervous or uncertain, there’s something to be said about his perseverance: what bravery to dive head first into something that elicits a question mark. Our steps fall into a box sequence across the floor with an easy silence. That little smile tells me that Yuri is just as comfortable as I am with the lack of spoken words; this dance is enough of a conversation for us. The last time I danced with someone like this was last year at a gala, and it certainly didn’t cause me to turn pink and smile uncontrollably; I’m relatively unaffected by people, but then again, there’s Yuri. The stiffness in his arms subsides as our dance progresses, but retain the distance between us. It’s only a waltz, but Yuri’s body moves with more grace than I’ve seen in him so far. I bet he’s quite a dancer, but there’s only one way to find out!

“Yuri, I have an idea.” I don’t know if he’ll go for it, but it’s worth a shot. Our dance comes to an end when the song is over; neither of us take our hands off the other.

“What’s your idea?”

I listen for the next song to start, finding its beat in little time. “Do you know how to Charleston?” 

“Are you kidding?”

The disbelief on Yuri’s face is priceless! Of course, I’m not kidding and wiggle my fingers in a cue for him to grab my hands. “It’s easy, and you have a knack for dancing.” Yuri stares as his fingers thread through mine, no longer cold. It doesn’t take long for him to catch onto the simple step sequence. Yuri is a sharp student! “Ready to add some style?” I ask, showing him how to incorporate more flair into the dance. He laughs at me, holding his stomach, claiming I look silly; despite his teasing, he follows my lead, mirroring my gestures. If I can get Yuri to smile so fully like this, I’ll gladly make a fool of myself to do so. I’ve never seen eyes so deep, or heard such an honest laugh; I can’t help but wonder how many others have gotten the privilege of seeing Yuri under this light and selfishly hope that I’m the only one. We master the foxtrot and several swing moves when Yuri sets his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you’re teaching me how to dance.” The first night we met, Yuri’s voice was soft, shy; now, his words carry strength and certainty. How lucky I am to have him open up to me like this! My heart swells with delight.

“You’re a great student!” I insist. Yuri’s eyes dart away from mine. Did I say something wrong? His cheeks turn red, but he isn’t smiling like the other times he blushes. “Yuri?”

“Victor?” I’ve forgotten how to breathe, how to think, now that Yuri’s eyes find mine. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment while unknown thoughts swirl around his head. It was a compliment; it wasn’t over the line, either. Yuri made it clear that subtlety is preferable the night we met, but I don’t think I said anything uncouth just now. Did I? Before I can apologize, Yuri presses his lips together on an exhale. “Well…thank you.” He gestures toward the staircase. “I think I’ll go check what’s left upstairs. You don’t need to keep sweeping yet if you don’t want.” Yuri steps around me, much wider than necessary, and starts for the second floor.

“Do you want me to go with you?” I desperately want him to say yes; say yes and let me confirm if I’ve upset him or not so I can make him smile again. Yuri turns, a hint of happiness easing the gravity in his eyes.

“Why don’t you check on the dogs? Then we can finish around here.”

I nod; if Yuri needs time alone, there’s no reason for me to deny him that. “Sure. I’ll be back.” I smile so he knows I understand. Well, maybe I don’t fully understand but I can see that Yuri wants space and that’s all I need to know. I make my way through the rain and into the house to find our poodles lazily laying on the floor. “Are you two becoming friends like Yuri and me?” My voice catches Makkachin’s attention more than Vicchan’s; she stands to greet me, launching herself to say hello. “Miss me, my girl?” Years ago, Makkachin found me after I made my art public; she’s always been this excited to see me, even as my art became more popular. Her fur is warm and welcoming to my hands. Vicchan walks over, pressing his little paws on my legs. “Would you like some attention, too?” I tuck him in my arms, smiling at how easily he settles against my chest. “Let’s go make tea. Maybe that’ll cheer Yuri up!” Makkachin follows me to the kitchen. Most people would put the toy poodle down to simplify the tea making process; I, however, manage to get through my task with only one hand. “I miss being able to carry you like this, Makka.” I smile down at her adorable face. “We both know I sometimes do, but still.” While the water heats up, I hum a song to Vicchan and smile at Makkachin; they’re both greatly affectionate dogs, and a part of me believes they know how to tug at my heartstrings. “It’s only with animals that I get so sappy.” That’s not entirely true, I realize, but I don’t bother amending my statement; my growing friendship with Yuri is proof enough.

“Victor?”

Vicchan’s ears perk up at his owner’s voice. Makkachin leaves the kitchen to go find Yuri. “I’m in the kitchen!” I reply. The two of them stand in the doorway, Yuri reaching down to pet Makkachin with his other arm behind his back; seeing them getting along causes me to smile. “Hi, Yuri. I was going to bring you some tea.”

“You were?”

The word wonder comes to mind when Yuri blinks at me, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Is what I’m doing that surprising? I make tea all the time! I laugh, pouring water into both cups. “Yes, you seemed a little uneasy when I left, so I thought it might help.” I give Vicchan a kiss atop his head, noticing for the second time that Yuri has something behind his back. “May I ask what you have there?”

“What?”

“Behind your back!” I laugh at Yuri’s endearing forgetfulness; he seems to become absentminded when something’s on his mind.

Yuri shakes his head, smirking. “Sorry, I kind of forgot I was holding anything.” He extends his arms out, a bundle of folded fabric presented to me. It has squares of different patterns and colors, sewn with contrasting threads that seem to have no rhyme nor reason. “Ta da!” Yuri grins, a warm flush of color painting his expression pink. “I found my old quilt in my room! I knew there had to be another blanket for you somewhere.” His old quilt? He found a blanket he owned as a child and decided to let me borrow it? Yuri hasn’t really placed any significance on the quilt, but the fact that he wants me to sleep comfortably and trusts me with his property makes the gesture special; I hide my smile behind my free hand. Yuri lifts the blanket higher in my line of sight. “Victor?”

“Are you sure? It’s yours, and you’ve done so much for me already.” I rest my hand over my heart. “I don’t want to take it away from you if you need it, too.”

“But I found it for you.” Yuri nods.

He doesn’t need to say more: I accept the quilt, hugging it to me and handing Vicchan over to him. It isn’t the most aesthetically pleasing blanket, and it isn’t the cleanest, but I don’t care; it’s a gift from Yuri and that’s all that matters. “Thank you.”

Yuri smiles, stepping around me to tend to our tea. “You’re welcome.”

“I’ll go put it with the other one.” Makkachin follows me to the living room. I gently place the quilt on top of the blanket Yuri gave me before, smoothing the fabric out. In my opinion, it’s clear that Yuri cares about me to some extent. There’s no way he feels nothing for me, sharing his home and all, but what nature those feelings are remains a mystery. What I do know is that Yuri doesn’t treat me any way I’ve been treated before; he laughs with me, converses with me, dances with me, worries about me. Yuri’s made it quite simple for me to understand what I feel for him. I take Makkachin’s face in my hands, leaning close to one of her ears. “Can you keep a secret, Makkachin?” I whisper so only she can hear. “I really like him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read comments on Thursdays; if you leave any reviews and comments this week, I’ll get them on my birthday XD Also, I update a series of aesthetic moodboard edits on my Tumblr every Thursday, so if that’s your thing, come stop by or whatevs. Love y’all for reading!


	6. Kitchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we return to Yuri’s POV! Another YoI character will be introduced, but not in person. I think it’s only fair to warn you: prepare for this chapter to end on more of a low than a high.

Even though Victor is only a few inches taller than me, I can’t help but feel like he’s the better man for this job; there really isn’t a good way for me to reach high up on the wall to hang this clothesline. I mean, there’s no furniture to stand on and the counter’s not in an ideal spot to be of any use. I already tied one end of the line to a stray tack where a calendar used to hang; I sigh, accepting I can’t do this alone. Victor should still be in the living room, resting from giving Makkachin and Vicchan a bath. Without leaving the kitchen, I peek around the doorway to check on my guest. Makkachin chases after a tennis ball Victor idly swats on the floor, one of my old books in hand and…are those reading glasses perched near the tip of his nose? The silver frames look somewhat foreign on his face, but don’t diminish how handsome he is by nature; it’s a shame we can’t all look this fantastic in glasses but that’s life. I smile in spite of myself, noticing the tacky quilt draped over Victor’s lap; Vicchan is perched at his feet, watching the two play before noticing me. I should stop watching Victor this way; my face burns, but I clear my throat. “Victor?”

He fumbles to keep his grip on the book, snatching his readers and tossing them behind the sofa. The sight is hilarious, but the shock from how fast he moved drops my jaw. Victor smiles, but a redness tints his cheeks and nose. “Yes, Yuri?”

I’m trying not to laugh, so I let myself smile instead and walk over to him. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

Is he really denying his actions right now? “I didn’t know you needed reading glasses.” I shrug. Victor’s face both pales and reddens, smile fading.

“I…I’m not wearing glasses.”

“Victor, I just saw you take them off and throw them.” Why would he be lying about such an ordinary thing? Victor blinks, raising his eyebrows; in an attempt to keep a straight face, he visibly sinks his teeth into his bottom lip but that impending smile can be seen from a mile away. A smirk starts to pull at the corner of my mouth as I take a step towards him. “You’re telling me that if I look behind the sofa, I won’t find a pair of reading glasses?” I ask. Victor remains still until I rush over; he leaps from his spot, grabbing at my arms to keep me from looking behind the couch.

“No, Yuri!” He whines. “Don’t look!” Victor pulls me away with a laugh.

I shake my head, laughing with him. “What is the big deal?”

“I hate that I need them.” Victor pouts. I think more than half of all people need some sort of vision correction; I think Victor’s seen me without glasses only a handful of times. He yanks the quilt from the seat, wrapping it around himself, and collapses in a heap next to Vicchan. He mutters something that sounds like he’s saying he’s cold.

“What’d you say?”

“I’m getting so old.” His words are quite clear this time. In all honesty, I didn’t think he was more than a couple years older than me; could he be much older than he looks? I suppose it doesn’t matter how old Victor is; he still has his career ahead of him, he seems to be in good health and spirits. Strike that last thought: he just rolled off the sofa, still wrapped in the blanket. “You’re not saying anything.” Victor groans. “Or maybe you are, but I’m going deaf.”

Oh, wow. I don’t think I can roll my eyes enough, so I tug the quilt from his grasp. “Victor, you’re not old.” He sighs, sitting up with a bored look on his face. “And wearing glasses doesn’t make you old, especially if you just need them when you’re reading. I wear them, and am I old?”

“I don’t think so.” Victor taps his chin. “How old are you?”

“Twenty four.”

“Are you sure?”

I don’t mean to laugh, but I do. “Positive.”

Victor finally smiles. “You look younger than that. I thought you were more than four years younger than me.”

“Nope. At least you don’t look bad in glasses.” I fold the blanket and set it on the sofa arm.

“The same can be said about you.”

He doesn’t need to be so polite; I wasn’t expecting him to say anything like that. I turn away so he can’t see me blushing. “Get off the floor. You’re going to get your clothes dirty.” Speaking of clothes, there was a reason I came over here. “Actually, can you give me a hand in the kitchen, Victor? You’re taller than me.” I explain over my shoulder on my way out of the room.

Victor follows me, humming. “What did you need help with?”

I use a pushpin to point at a high point on the wall. “I need you to put this pin in there and tie this string to it.” I gesture to the slack clothesline I left on the other tack.

“Oh, for our laundry?” Victor asks while tying the string to the pin. With nonsensical ease, he stabs the wall with it so the line is fairly taut. His arms are longer than I realized. “There you go!” Victor smiles. “Was that all, or did you need help hanging the clothes?” He checks his phone before pocketing it with another smile.

“If you’d like to hang up your own clothes, you’re welcome to.” I shrug. We had to wash our clothes in the tub; it was messy and only slightly awkward, but Victor’s conversation made it less uncomfortable to wash our underwear together in the bath. “We don’t have any clips, so everything will have a line down the middle but whatever.” The laundry is sitting in a pile on the counter, not wet enough to drip down the side but not dry enough to be left there. I start at the lower end of the line and let the sides of my things overlap to save room. Victor does the same at the higher end where he can reach more easily than I.

“You have a lot of dark clothes.” Victor notices. “Why is that?”

I don’t tell him that black hides my less than ideal physique. “I think I look better in black. You have a lot of jumpers.”

“I do.” Victor pauses his humming to respond. “It can get cold on the coast, and I like to be out.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’m also used to cold weather.” Victor sighs, almost tired. “Maybe a part of me doesn’t want to be somewhere it doesn’t get cold.”

“What do you mean?”

“I grew up in Russia, and everywhere after has had frozen winters and mild summers, and sits by the sea.” He flashes me a sad smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I guess I can’t leave that part of me behind.”

I’m loath to admit it, but the coldness in his eyes pains me; Victor shouldn’t ever be that sad. He’s too sweet and too kind to deserve such sorrow. “If you stay here long enough, it’ll get pretty sunny.” Once the rain fully stops, there’s no reason for him to stay, I know, but I can still dream, can’t I? For a moment, Victor doesn’t say anything. He stops hanging his clothes, instead smiling my direction. At last, Victor nods.

“Maybe I’ll like it.” Before I get the chance to smile, his phone starts to ring. His eyes roll towards the ceiling before scanning the screen. It’s hard not to notice the conflicting emotions swirling in Victor’s eyes as he stares at his phone; why is it taking so long for him to decide if he’s going to answer? I turn away, sighing.

“You should answer it.”

But he doesn’t. He types out a message and tucks the phone back into his pocket. “No, I’ll call back later.” Victor nods, returning to his laundry. “He can wait.” My foolish heart halts its beating, sinking with a cold flutter; there’s no reason I should’ve thought Victor was single. Not only should this not come as a surprise, I should have no reason to mind. Honestly, there’s no way Victor would still be here if the bridge wasn’t flooded; we may have something of a friendship now, being stuck with each other and all, but to entertain the notion that he might be interested in me romantically is absurd. I know it in my brain, but my heart lacks common sense. “Yuri, are you hungry?” Victor asks. I shrug in response, not even looking over at him. I didn’t realize how much laundry I’d gone through since arriving; there isn’t going to be enough room on the line. “Yuri.” His stern tone turns my face to him. I don’t think I’ve seen Victor look so serious; there’s no trace of a smile in his lips, and the usual warmth in his eyes has vanished. For a moment, I wonder if he can read my mind from that stare alone. My face burns with embarrassment at my pathetic thoughts, but I maintain eye contact. Why won’t he say anything?

“Victor?”

He pauses a beat before looking away. “You’ve gone too long without eating, I think.” Victor hangs up another jumper. “We should make something.”

While that point is valid, the air between us still hangs tense and thick. Again, I shrug but follow Victor to the fridge. “We’ve gone through most of the frozen stuff.” I wasn’t planning on feeding two people so the meals have only lasted half as long as I’d intended; to be honest, I don’t mind sharing my food with Victor but I’m not in the mood to cook. “I don’t feel like cooking.”

“That’s okay.” Victor’s smile is small, but it adds a light to his gaze. “I can make us both something, and you can tell me a story.”

“A story?”

Victor starts to grab ingredients from the cupboard and the fridge, making a mess of the pristine countertop. He interrupts his humming to reply. “Yes, a story. I like to hear about your wonderful experiences here, and when you were young.”

“Why don’t you tell me a story?” I don’t know what compels me to ask this, but I can’t take the words back after they leave my mouth.

“About what?” Victor seems genuinely confused about what he could possibly share, as if he’s never lived before showing up in my driveway.

“Well…” Before he taught me how to dance, that light flush over his cheeks and nose was a rare occurrence; the pink color seems to be a constant now, making me wonder if there’s something truly significant to him about dancing. “Will you tell me how you learned to dance?” I ask after taking a seat on the counter. Victor smirks over his shoulder, busy chopping vegetables. There’s no need to question what he’s making; I’ll find out soon enough.

“That’s a very short story, but I’ll indulge you.” Victor turns back to his task. “When I was thirteen, I had to go to my first gala. That was when my agent was just my agent.” What does that mean? “I saw that a lot of the others were dancing and I was the clueless kid in the corner with a chaperone.” Victor laughs. “So I watched the others and learned the steps for the proper songs, and by the next gala, I was able to dance with them.” He shrugs. While heating up a pot on the stove, he sets his hands on his hips and looks at me. “Your stories are much more interesting, Yuri. My stories are short and boring.” Victor rolls his eyes.

Although that’s not true, I don’t say it in as many words. No, I want to hear more about him. “How did you become a photographer?” I ask.

Victor blinks before revealing a small, dare I say shy, smile. “I don’t want to bore you with that.”

“I’d like to hear it.” I nod, sounding pushier than I feel. “I mean…well, if you’re willing to share. I don’t want to force you, but I want to hear about it.”

“Okay.” He agrees. The story doesn’t begin until Victor stirs the vegetables in the pot, drowning them in liquid. “I started taking pictures when I was about eight. I found a camera on a dock, one of those throw away ones, and started photographing everything: people, animals, buildings, food. Naturally, those were terrible.” He laughs. “I was just a kid, but I wanted to do better. I saved up money and got a real camera and took more and more pictures.” Victor pauses, staring at the wall. I lean back, straining to see the look on his face, but he turns away before I can read his expression. Maybe it was a bad idea to ask about this; I’m beginning to feel guilty. “I wanted to see things through a…an attractive filter for a change. Eventually, I started touching up my pictures on a neighbor’s computer. For whatever reason, that came naturally to me. Anyway, I printed some of my pictures and shared them with the others at the dock, and my agent, Yakov, happened to see them. Before he was my agent, I mean.” Victor corrects himself, setting the spoon down. When he turns to face me, he looks alarmingly indifferent; this is his life he’s talking about, yet he appears to have no attachment to it. “He told me to keep taking pictures, so when I had spare time, I did. It wasn’t until I was ten that Yakov labelled me a prodigy and got me a tutor so I could focus on my career.”

“Wait, you started your career at ten?”

“Didn’t you know that?” Victor tries to suppress a smile, but fails. “I guess that was before your time. Yakov was going back to the States when I was fifteen, so he took me with him. I shared my work online and the rest is history.”

His agent moved with him to the US? Didn’t his parents mind? I frown, shaking my head; something doesn’t add up to me. “You left the country with your agent?”

“Yes.” Victor turns back to the pot, stirring absently. He doesn’t say it’s the end of the discussion, but the meaning of his silence is understood. I should feel terrible for bringing up the topic, and I sort of do, but the greater part of me is just plain curious. What the hell happened between when Victor was ten and fifteen? The question almost becomes a series of spoken words; I can’t bring myself to ask Victor to elaborate when he won’t look at me, though. I may feel more for him than he does for me, but I can’t put an end to caring about Victor.

“My favorite food is katsudon.”

That is absolutely not what I meant to say, and the fact that I blurted it out is both horrifying and humiliating; I must sound incredibly ridiculous! Victor turns to me, one eyebrow raised, probably in confusion. I’m sure my face is bright red, so I look down at my hands and fold them in my lap. His laugh is sudden, full of humor and brightness. “I knew you were hungry! This soup will do the trick.” Victor smiles. He taps his chin in thought, eyes sparkling. “Unfortunately, it’s not your favorite food, but I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that. Is it easy to make?”

“Not for me.” I shake my head.

“What is it?”

“It’s like a rice bowl with fried pork and egg.” The way I describe it doesn’t do it any justice, but eating the food would speak far louder than my voice can. “I’ve never tasted katsudon quite like my mom’s, but if you ever find a good Japanese restaurant, you should try it.” When I notice Victor’s pout, I ask: “What?”

He returns to the soup, pouty expression intact. “I want to try making it.”

“I don’t’ see any leftover tonkatsu lying around.”

“When the bridge is clear, can we get the ingredients for it in town?” Victor’s excitement increases the volume of his voice and pulls the corners of his mouth up into a grin. “We can try making it, and I can finally get fresh fruit and nondairy creamer! Can we, Yuri?” He abandons the soup, turning to me with a look I can’t refuse; who can say no to such pure, adorable enthusiasm? Even if him staying much longer than the flooding is nonsense, I don’t want to see him sad; not after I made him tell me about his childhood. When I nod, Victor claps his hands together. “It’ll be great! Maybe not like your mom’s, but I’m sure we can make it happen.”

His passion is contagious; I find myself smiling, too. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

Eating at the coffee table has been easy to get used to: I sit on one side with my food towards the right, and Victor sits across from me, against the sofa, with his food on my left; he sets up his phone on one end and plays music in the background while we chat. The rain falls quietly now, no wind rattling the outside world around us. During my explanation of why I majored in business, I notice Victor seems to be staring at me. I hope there’s nothing on my face, but to be sure, I dab a napkin over my mouth. That sea hued gaze is still locked on me, accompanied by a warm smile. “Victor?” I don’t know why, but I let out a little laugh. He blinks, smile growing, before leaving the table. “What’re you doing?” Victor doesn’t answer; instead, he reaches into one of his bags on the other side of the couch and extracts a camera. He wiggles it in front of his face, aiming the lens at me! I cover my face. “Victor! What’re you doing?”

He laughs over the shutter. “Nobody will see these pictures!” I don’t know if I believe him, but I do know that I don’t look decent when I’m eating.

“Not while I’m eating!”

“I’m not trying to capture you eating.” Victor invades my line of sight, camera down. “You get this look when you’re telling stories, and I want to photograph that.”

“Don’t be illogical. There’s nothing special about my face.”

“Yuri!” Victor scolds me. It amazes me, to be honest; I figured he’d give up and go back to eating. I don’t know why I figured that, now that I think about it. “Art needs no logic, and you can’t see you the way I do.” Any protests I’d thought up vanish on my tongue. Victor resumes his seat across the table, hoisting the camera up again. “Nobody will see them unless you say so.” My favorite photographer wants to take pictures of me. There’s nothing I can say to that; it’s beyond my wildest dream. I relent, nodding, to Victor’s delight. “Thank you, Yuri! These will be breathtaking; trust me.” He gives no direction; I know what angles make me look acceptable and I know to stay candid by continuing my story. “You don’t even need coaching.” Victor notes. “Do you have an interest in photography, aside from being a fan of pretty pictures?”

“You could say that.” When I smirk, the shutter goes off several times.

“Maybe I’ll teach you some techniques. You’re a fast learner, after all.” He mutters. Is he kidding? He’s not laughing, or halting the photo shoot; Victor’s not kidding! I mean, he doesn’t know about my old photography dreams or my horrendous portfolio, but he’s willing to share his talent and knowledge with me. “Would you like that?” Victor smiles behind the camera.

Naturally, I smile at him; maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let him know that we share a common desire to look at life through a lens and share that vision with others. “I would.”

“We’ll do that as soon as the rain stops.” Victor agrees. A buzzing sound startles me, taking me from my thoughts. I follow Victor’s eyes to his phone: an incoming call from someone labelled котенок? He sighs, setting the camera down but ignoring the call. Victor laughs after tapping away on his phone, holding it out and playing a message. “Do you hear this?” He shakes his head, going through several angry voicemails from a male in a language I think is Russian. “He’s so jealous right now, but I don’t want to call him.”

If I were this котенок, I’d be jealous, too; oh, wait, I am jealous and I’m nobody to Victor. At least this other guy has some established relationship, even if that doesn’t quite justify how much he’s yelling. If I were him, I’d be dying for a returned call. “You should call him.”

The disappointment that washes over Victor’s face speaks volumes: he doesn’t want to go back to his reality just yet, and calling this person back will force him to do exactly that. His shoulders fall, eyes glued to his phone. “You’re right. I’m not being fair.” Victor stands, gesturing to the door. “I’m going to step out for a minute. You’ll be fine, right? I won’t be too long.” Why should he rush to get back to me? I’m nobody special.

“It’s fine, Victor. Try to stay dry.” I pull my own phone out and pretend to check my email while he slips outside. I check to see that he’s really gone, and sigh. “Vicchan, come here.” I beckon him to climb off the sofa, and Makkachin follows; the three of us huddle together beside the table while I text Mari: ‘Are you busy?’ I doubt she’s doing anything important at this time of day; she usually spends her afternoons smoking in the courtyard, avoiding human contact until necessary. Vicchan rolls over, exposing his belly. “Victor spoils you more than I do, you know that?” I ask him, obliging in tummy rubs.

Mari responds: ‘Nope. What’s up’

Where to begin? I sigh and type out: ‘Still need to pack up our old rooms.’

‘Boring lol what’s new’

I might as well tell her; if I tell Phichit, he may blab and I’d rather her hear about what’s going on from me. ‘Victor took pictures of me.’

‘NO WAY’ Mari follows up her message with shocked emojis. Maybe they’re scared? I’m not as fluent as she and Phichit are in text talk. Before I can reply, she sends another message: ‘I’m going to call you, hang on’ I roll my eyes, flopping back onto the floor. There’s a strange bumpy patch in the corner of the ceiling; never noticed that before. When my phone starts to vibrate, I accept the call without looking, letting Vicchan curl up beside my face. “Okay, he did what? Your favorite photographer, ever, since you were little, did what?!” Mari asks. I must be mistaken; she almost sounds enthralled by this concept.

“We were just talking, and he said he wanted to take pictures of me. I let him.”

“That is so badass!” She laughs alone; I lie on the floor, blinking. “Hey, what’s up with you, kiddo? I thought you’d be jumping for joy.”

“I was, at first.”

Mari allows me to sigh, filling up the pause. “What happened, then?”

“I think he has someone. Um, romantically.” We’re really having this conversation. Ugh, this is so embarrassing; I sound like a whiny teenager with a crush! I cover my reddening face, groaning. “Mari, I know I shouldn’t care, so please don’t say it.” Even after I exhale, she stays quiet. “We barely know each other and he’s a huge success in a field I failed miserably in, and I know he’d never hang around me if he wasn’t forced to. He’s vastly out of my league, physically and artistically, and I don’t know why I assumed he was single in the first place, but there’s no way he’ll want to teach me anything with this other person on his mind.” I scrub my face, willing my stupid brain to figure its shit out and ignore the rapid beating of my heart. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t want to like him like this!” Makkachin rests her head on my belly, the rest of her near my arm. 

“Yuri, take a deep breath, okay?” My sister’s voice is steady and clear. I press my eyes shut, willing the tears to retreat; I can only get a shaky breath in. “Keep breathing and listen.” I manage to get in a good inhale; this isn’t an attack, but it doesn’t make it any less inconvenient.

“Okay.”

“Good. Now, I don’t know what’s gone down over there or what your relationship with Victor is. It actually doesn’t even matter.” Mari tells me. “You’ve impressed people with your photography before, and you’re really smart. Who cares if you like to eat? And what does it matter what Victor looks like or who he knows? For whatever reason, he’s there with you now, and maybe you can learn something from him.” Her voice takes on a more aggressive quality, like when people question her time management skills. “Don’t let yourself get you down.” It’s too easy, though. I will admit, Mari does have a point: I can still learn from Victor, even if we remain friendly acquaintances. He said I’m a good student, a fast learner and he’s willing to show me how he creates his art; maybe he really is interested in helping me. I bury my fingers in Makkachin’s fur, sighing for what feels like an eternity. “Forget about his personal life. Just try to live yours.” Easier said than done, sis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Котенок means kitten in Russian, BTW; for those who don’t know, I am currently learning the language and IT IS NOT EASY but I like a challenge. Also, can’t go too long without some angsty misunderstandings, now, can we? Anyway, feel free to comment and review and stuff! Can you wait an entire week to see what happens next? XD I’ll show myself out hahha


	7. Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know; stupid misunderstandings can be avoided and have been done to death. Let me put it this way: as an anxiety sufferer, this happens more often than I’d like to admit and it’s super easy to just accept assumptions as truths rather than reveal to others how twisted the mind sometimes works and it felt appropriate to include. In other news, y’all get to hear from Phichit again in this chapter as he tries to cheer Yuri up and be.. .well, Phichit XD

Board games with my family used to be a big source of entertainment here. It wasn’t because of the games themselves, either; my mom always needed the rules repeated throughout play, dad had more fun pretending to be overly serious than focusing on his actual strategy and Mari made it clear that she didn’t care about the outcome, despite how frustrated she got when she’d lose. Our collection of games is here in Mari’s closet, forgotten under a shroud of musty cobwebs. Even if we wanted to play them now, none of us have the time to sit around a table and roll dice; there’s too much work to be done and too many people to take care of. I wipe them off with a paper towel, setting them in a new stack in the corner of the room where Mari’s bed used to be. “Why do we have so many of these games?” To be honest, I don’t recognize a couple of them, but twelve years can warp what was once a certainty into a maybe. As I cross the room, my steps sound empty and sad; at least it’s no longer cold and only slightly rainy. The rain can’t end soon enough. I sigh, checking my phone: I’ve missed a call from Phichit. I’m not feeling like a ray of sunshine, but if anyone can help me feel closer to one, it’s Phichit. He answers his phone right away. “Hey, sorry. I was clean—”

“That’s fine, but listen to this!” Phichit gulps for air, practically panting. What, was he running?

“Why’re you out of breath?”

He tries to laugh, but it sounds more like wheezing. “I ran across campus to my office.” Phichit’s technically a grad student instructor, so he has an office; as an art instructor, that office doubles as a studio. “Can you imagine if I was outta shape? I’d be dead.” It sounds like he’s taking a drink, gulping sounds quite audible. “Okay, so you remember yesterday, how one of my students asked for a meeting?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I’m not normally out and around campus so early, so I went to the café at the far end ’cause I hear they have the best lattes. So here I am, waiting in line, and guess who passes by with a cup in his hand.”

There’s only one person I imagine is on Phichit’s mind, and I hardly know a thing about him. “Could it be this mysterious man with no face or name?”

“You know what he looks like.”

“No, I don’t.” I chuckle, shaking my head and finding a seat on the floor.

Phichit huffs. “I told you, he has black hair and dark eyes, and he always wears dark suits. What more can I tell you?” I suppose he has a point, there. “Oh, but yeah! It was him! I asked him what his order was, and we started talking about what drinks were good there and stuff and I found out that he’s in the math department! Isn’t that amazing?”

“That he’s a math guy? That doesn’t seem like your style.”

“No!” He laughs. “That I talked to him and found out which building he works in.”

Not that I don’t trust Phichit’s judgement, but I think I’d feel more excited if I knew the guy. Is he selfish? Is he cold? Does he like musicals as much as Phichit? Is he allergic to hamsters? “Tell me something: did you get a good feeling from him?” I don’t want to come across as negative, but I’d hate to pick up the pieces of my best friend’s shattered heart again.

“Sounds like somebody’s worried.” Phichit says in a singsong voice. I roll my eyes at his giggle, shaking my head. “You know how it takes you a while to warm up to people? He’s like that.”

“If you say so.”

He sighs. “I’m not planning a wedding, Yuri; I just met a hot guy who works at the same place I do.” When I stay quiet, he asks: “Are you doing alright? You sound down.”

I scrub my face, letting out a sigh. “I’m fine. I’ve been better.”

“Yuri, you know you can tell me what’s wrong. I mean, we’ve been friends for years. You probably know me better than my family.” Phichit scoffs. He’s right, but I’m not prepared for how stupid my admission is going to sound.

“I was…I was sort of starting to like Victor. You know, as more than a friend?” I’ve been in relationships before and we’re not kids, but saying I’m falling for Victor or that I want to have sex with Victor make the ideas seem more real than I’d like them to be. “Um, so, we’re kind of friends and we were having dinner, but someone called him. It was the same person that tried contacting him multiple times before, and he left to call them back.”

“Okay?”

“He was gone for a long time, and came back all giggly and smiling.” When Victor had finished his call, I’d already hung up with Mari and finished dinner. He looked refreshed and couldn’t stop smiling. Well, he stopped smiling when I said I had some emails to answer and had to take care of the dinner dishes; he probably wanted to gab about his wonderful call to someone but there was no way I could’ve sat around for that. “I think he’s already in a relationship.”

“Wait, so you think him taking a call and coming back in a good mood means he has someone?”

“What else could that mean? Phichit, this guy was calling and texting him all day and when Victor finally calls back, it’s all smiles.” I roll my eyes. “I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think he’d show me his techniques.”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, hon.” He doesn’t leave any room for protests. “Even if you were wrong, that doesn’t make you stupid. We both know you’re smart and have never done a stupid thing in your life. And you don’t even know who he was talking to. Like, it could’ve been his father, for all you know. Or a coworker. You should ask.”

My jaw drops at his suggestion. “I’m not asking! It’s none of my business.”

“Yuri, there’s no harm in saying, ‘Hey, why was that guy calling you nonstop? Is everything okay?’ It’s not like you start in with accusations and shit.” Phichit makes it sound so easy, but so many things could go wrong.

“I don’t know about that.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it couldn’t hurt. It’ll also ease your mind, I think.” He suggests. Phichit’s advice is mostly useful, and it always comes from a good place. However, it’s not that easy for me; the phone call didn’t happen earlier today, so it’d be strange to bring it up now, wouldn’t it? I might also offend him by sticking my nose in his business; we barely know each other, and there’s no way I’ve reached that kind of friendship with him. I almost feel bad for keeping this concern, my feelings and my photography background from Victor. Maybe Phichit’s right; deciding how to talk to him is the issue, though. “What’re you thinking?”

I pull my knees to my chest, needing a hug but remembering I’m alone. “I don’t know how I’ll bring it up, but…you’re probably right, I should.” My shoulders drop, tired. “If anything, it’ll stop all the questions I keep having.”

“There you go! That’s the idea.” Phichit’s smile is surely present; I can hear it in his cheerful voice. “It can’t hurt, trust me. Asking won’t make him hate you, or anything.”

Over the years, Phichit has learned how to speak Yuri, even when we’re far apart and can’t see each other. “I guess it doesn’t even matter; we won’t see each other again when all of this is over, so what do I have to lose?” I wish Vicchan was in this house with me; he always knows when I need cuddles.

“You don’t know that. Anyway, try to be happy, okay? Take Victor’s career advice, and have fun while you can.”

“Yeah, alright. Don’t stalk any math professors, no matter how hot they are.” I smirk. He argues that he’s infatuated, not obsessed, and we hang up with a laugh that lifts my spirits. In all honesty, Phichit doesn’t even need to help me with my problems to make me feel better; simply being around and speaking to my best friend is often enough. I considered asking him to come with me, but I didn’t want to force him to take time off from work. The loneliness of cleaning up the past on my own can weigh pretty heavily; pain hangs over my head with the memories that carry it, waiting to be uncovered in the overlooked recesses of this house. I let go of my knees, stretching my legs out in front of me. When I reach forward, I can’t go as far as I used to, before I put on these extra pounds. When I graduated, I stopped needing to run across campus and go up and down staircases; my eating habits didn’t change, and now I’m left with this belly. Well, it was nice to have my spirits lifted for that moment; now I’m hanging my head and staring at my feet.

“Yuri?”

I admit it: I scream at the sound of Victor’s voice. I will not admit that I physically jump, too. He holds his hands up in surrender, face reddening. “You scared me!”

“I’m sorry!” Victor takes a step back. I notice a camera around his neck; it’s not the one he used to photograph me before. This one is an instant print model. “I didn’t mean to scare you, or intrude.” He shakes his head. “I was looking all over for you.” Victor gestures with the camera. Did he want to teach me about his techniques now? Like, this minute? “I know the rain hasn’t stopped, but…why are you in here?”

I point at the games in the corner. “I’m cleaning in here.”

Victor’s eyes scan the games before returning to me, wide and nearly watery. “But…why didn’t you come get me? You know I’m happy to help you around here.”

“You were on your computer.” I remind him. When I left the guesthouse, Victor was busy editing photos on his laptop; I didn’t want to distract him. Oh, and I also didn’t want him around while I was sulking about being a failure as a photographer and as a potential student. I don’t say this, but I sigh. “I didn’t think you’d want to be bothered, so I left you to it.” I stand to my feet, heading towards the games. 

Victor doesn’t follow me. “It wouldn’t have bothered me.”

“Okay, well, that’s why I left without you.” The silence that follows my statement is heavier than I anticipate. I know what games are here, but I pretend to sort them with Victor’s eyes boring into the back of me; there’s no need for staring. Why is he staring at me? The question nags at me, but I don’t turn around and I certainly don’t ask.

“Can I run an idea by you?”

“Go ahead.”

“I think you could use a break.” Victor claps his hands. “And I see a bunch of activities there.”

Is he hinting at what I think he’s hinting at? “And your idea?”

“Maybe we can play one of them!”

In less than a second, I spin on my heel to face him. Victor laughs, but I must’ve missed the joke; I blink in disbelief: he’s serious. “Victor.” The smile doesn’t leave his face, nor does the flush of color. “You can’t be serious.”

“Yuri, it’ll be fun!” Victor brushes past me, selecting two board games. He hugs them to his chest, grinning at me. Heaven help me, I won’t be able to say no, will I? When Victor blinks at me, hope in his eyes, I know I’m sunk. “Please? I haven’t seen you all day and you’ve been working too hard.” His pout is the nail in my coffin. “And I didn’t get to show you anything about photography, either.” After a single sigh, I nod, breaking out in what could be generously considered a smile. Victor beams and turns to leave. “I’m so excited! Come on.”

I follow him back to the guesthouse where we sit at the coffee table, the same way we do when we eat dinner. We didn’t share a meal today, aside from breakfast, so it’s kind of relaxing to sit down with Victor like this. “What’d you pick?” I ask, resting my chin in my hand.

“No idea.” He smiles. “I have another idea! Wait here.”

Victor not only leaves the room, he leaves the house. Oh, and he leaves me with my jaw dropped. “What the hell?” Even if I know Victor for another thirty years, I doubt I’ll ever be able to understand how his mind works. Maybe that’s the beauty of his brain: controlled chaos spun in silver and ocean waves; it makes little sense but it’s often interesting, at least. I roll my eyes at our poodles, cozy on the couch. “Makkachin, your human is positively nuts.” She blinks at me; I’ll take it as a silent agreement. Victor returns a moment later, waving two dark bottles in his hands. I gasp, covering my mouth. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Do you think it’s blackberry wine I had in the trunk?” Victor chuckles. “We’ll share, and it’ll make things more interesting.”

“I don’t know.” He can’t know this, but alcohol makes me…well, it makes me act out of character. In the apartment I shared with Phichit years ago, we both had terrible midterm seasons and drowned our sorrows in cheap bottles of vodka; he ended up with a video of me stripping and singing along with a tacky song about someone touching my body. I’m not proud of how I can get when under the influence. That being said, I’m starting to feel like this is going to be one of those sorrow drowning kinds of evenings.

Victor leaves the bottles on the table but goes to the kitchen. “I won’t force you.” He says over his shoulder.

“I know.” I don’t think Victor has forced me to do a single thing. Perhaps if I only have a few sips, or pace myself, I won’t lose control. I pick at one of my nailbeds and Victor takes his seat across from me, placing a cup in front of me and one in front of him. The large cups aren’t appropriate for these beverages, making me laugh. “Yeah, we don’t have wine glasses here.”

Victor hums in acknowledgement. “We won’t fill them.” He pours some wine in his cup, hovering over mine with an eyebrow raised, a silent question aimed at me.

“Alright, but not too much.”

“Of course.” He adds the dark liquid to my cup, too. “Now, what should we play first?”

Our first game starts out fine enough: we both know many words and enjoy spelling them across the board. It doesn’t take long, though, to figure out that we’re missing many vowels, namely the first two from the alphabet; it makes it difficult to spell much, so we throw the rules out the window and substitute random letters for the vowels. A few times, Victor tries to spell Russian words only to confuse himself and change his mind. It’s interesting how large his vocabulary is! I know it doesn’t take a college education to learn new words, but some of his choices are impressive and even beyond my knowledge. One bottle of wine later, we start a new game that requires marbles of the same color to return to their starting points after moving around the board. The warmth in my stomach is making all of his jokes funnier than usual; maybe the wine is simply making him funnier. “You can’t move backwards!” I remind him when he suddenly forgets the rules.

“I thought we could after…oh, wait, I’m thinking of Chinese checkers! Doesn’t the board look just like this, Yuri?”

“Not at all.” I laugh. Victor joins me, holding his abs when he loses the fight to stop the laughter. We find a deck of cards in one of the game boxes, deciding to play a childish game involving pairing numbers together to collect the majority. It isn’t as entertaining with only two people, but we switch to another game in little time. As we each set a card down and identify whose has the higher value, I recall that I never ate dinner. I had a late lunch, but even then, I hardly ate anything; there’s nothing to keep the alcohol from going right to my brain. “When did you eat last?” I ask Victor. We were in different houses all day, so I’m clueless as to what’s in his system.

He taps his chin, eyes on his cards. “I think it was around one? Six hours ago?”

“That’s eight.”

“Oh, I moved the wrong way.” Victor smirks. “I mean, I added the wrong way.”

“Are you good at math?”

“I can add one and six.”

Well, the bottles are empty and our new card game is starting to confuse me. The rules are getting muddled, and I’m losing interest. “Do you know an interesting game? This is boring.”

“We can play truth or dare.”

“Are we teenagers?”

Victor laughs, collecting the cards into a pile again. “Come on, Yuri. It can be fun. I’ll even let you go first.”

“Truth or dare?”

He puts the games away in a neat pile, turning back to smile. “Dare.”

Oh, right: I have to come up with something for him to do. “Um…” I adjust my glasses while I think. “Put your shirt on backwards.” Victor laughs, but does it anyway, pulling his arms from his sleeves and twisting the striped shirt around his body.

“Okay, truth or dare?”

There’s no way in hell I’m picking truth. “Dare.”

“I dare you to let me photograph you right now.” Victor’s eyes shine with something unfamiliar, yet similar to the last time he took my picture.

“Okay.” I don’t see the harm. Victor picks his camera up but only takes one picture. “Was that it?”

“I’ll take more while we play.”

Why does he even want pictures of me? I shake my head, checking an empty bottle for any remnants. “That’s fine. Truth or dare?”

“I’ll say truth this time.”

“Why were you going to your vacation house, or whatever? Are you that busy back home?” I ask. Victor’s gaze falls to the camera in his hands. Did I ask something terrible again? “Shit, sorry. Um, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want. I can ask a different question.”

“I’ll answer.” He looks back up at me, tilting his head to one side. “It’s been a while since I’ve released a new series. I’m struggling, and I thought maybe a trip somewhere pretty would help me feel inspired.” Victor takes another picture of me, lowering the camera to reveal a small smile; the intensity of his eyes shocks me. “Guess we’ll never know, will we?”

I don’t understand. “Wait, so you thought your house would inspire you?”

“Not my house, per se, but the sea and the environment. Well, the neighborhood around it.” He shrugs. “I normally find it quite a sight, and it’s relaxing, but then I ended up here.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, please don’t be.” Victor waves the thought away. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

He sets the camera down, standing with an arm extended my way. “Dance with me?”

I get up, holding his hand, but don’t step close enough to him to start. “There’s no music playing. Shouldn’t we have music?” He shakes his head, pulling me closer. The warmth radiating from where his other hand rests on me sends a shiver down my spine. I move in, toes nearly touching his, and meet his stare. “Do you want to lead?” To be honest, I wouldn’t know what to do if I led, but asking seems like the right thing to do.

“Trust me?” He asks. The blue of his eyes is both soothing and jarring; I melt in that calming hue, I tremble in that powerful color. All I can do is nod. Victor starts humming, softly at first, but as our dance moves across the floor, his voice grows louder in his chest. He hums all the time, I know, yet this is the first time he’s done so for me.

“Truth or dare?” I whisper, hesitant to interrupt him.

“Dare.”

“Can I see you with your hair out of your face?” It’s nonsensical to ask this; I’ve seen him with his hair out of his face a few times, but maybe not often enough for my liking. One corner of Victor’s mouth curls up, amusement written across his face. “I-I know it’s dumb, but—”

“Go ahead.”

Wait, what? I frown, confused. “I don’t understand.” I admit. Victor takes my hand and moves it to the fringe hanging over his left eye. As I brush his hair back, my breathing stops; Victor’s letting me touch him. My fingers graze his skin when I move the soft silver from his forehead, but I don’t permit them to linger. I push the bangs behind his ear. Even if I shouldn’t, I indulge myself, tracing his ear before I pull away. Victor leans into the touch, pale skin darkening to pink. I gasp without meaning to, slowly taking my hand back. His smile rattles me to my core; it’s not a generic, polite or enthusiastic one like I’m used to: it’s a smile that makes me feel like I’m safe, like I’m in a place I can stay forever.

“Don’t make fun of my forehead, either.” Victor jokes. Actually, he doesn’t laugh, so maybe he isn’t joking.

I shake my head, suddenly smiling. “I won’t.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Victor turns his head in a way that makes his hair fall back into place, obscuring his forehead and eye. “Do I have to leave when the bridge is clear?”

“That’s not really up to me.”

“Do you want me to leave when the bridge is clear?”

Part of me wants to protest that he already asked a question and the second one is void; the rest of me, the greater part of me, understands that in this moment, I don’t need to hide. “No.” Victor’s hand on my hip draws me in closer, moving to my back. It almost feels like a hug. While we continue our step sequence, I move towards him, nearly chest to chest. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

I don’t want to wonder any longer. It doesn’t make a difference, but I’m too curious to give up this opportunity. “When we were hanging up our laundry, who kept calling you?”

“Yuri.”

“Yes?”

Victor’s smile grows. “His name is Yuri.” Small world, I see. “He’s a…well, we have the same agent, and he was also moved here to further his career. I told him I’d share a few tips and tricks, and I kind of dropped the ball on that.” Victor chews on his lower lip before shrugging. “He’s just a kid; he has all the time in the world to improve, but my time here is limited. He can wait.” He’d rather put a colleague aside so he can teach me? This other Yuri is likely an established photographer of some kind, but Victor wants to stay with me, a nobody, while he has the chance. Is there a word for feeling humbled and grateful at the same time? My internal dictionary is absent while I try my hardest to keep the abnormally large grin from splitting my face in two. I drip my head and press my forehead to Victor’s collarbone, shutting my eyes. Victor puts an end to our dance, squeezing both my arms. “Yuri?”

“I’m sorry, I…” I don’t know how to finish that sentence. I laugh, feeling Victor’s arms wrap around me, pressing our bodies into an embrace. “I forgot what I was going to say.”

“How about truth or dare?”

I rest my hands on Victor’s shoulders before letting them knot at the back of his neck. “Truth.” I know I need to tell him what I’ve been hiding. Before he can ask me a question, I shake my head. “There’s something I need to get off my chest.” All Victor does is blink, eyes swirling with emotions I assumed I’d never see. “I’m not just a fan of yours. Ever since I saw your work and felt that artistic need to create, I…” The words are on the tip of my tongue. I take a deep breath, determined to tell Victor the truth. “I’m interested in your work, and having you teach me about your process because…I’ve always wanted to be a photographer, too. I used to take pictures, and I still do sometimes, but I can’t seem to capture images like you. I feel like such a failure, but it’s all I’ve ever wanted.” I sink my teeth into my lip before I can reveal all of my pathetic photography history. I didn’t even mean to say so much, but once I started, I couldn’t stop.

“You mean you’re a photographer, too?” Victor asks. I nod. Is he mad? Surprised? Does he believe me? Why is he moving closer like that? “You should’ve told me sooner. I could’ve been teaching you already.” The last of his words crash against my lips right before Victor’s mouth does. I try to gasp, but all I inhale is more Victor; his scent is intoxicating, clouding my thoughts until there’s nothing left but him. Just as I’m getting used to the softness of his kiss, Victor pulls away. “Is this okay?”

“Absolutely.” There isn’t the slightest chance that one kiss will be enough. I bury one hand in Victor’s hair, the other grasping at his shirt collar, and eliminate the distance between us. His hands trace my sides, fingers pressing into my hips. It’s still not enough; I need more. It seems that Victor senses this, deepening the kiss. Blackberry: it’s all I can taste, the sweetness spiking my blood as much as the alcohol all evening. When I open my eyes, I find that I’ve pressed Victor’s back against the wall. Will he mind if I move my mouth to his neck? Only one way to find out, I guess. Simple kisses bring out a grateful hum from Victor, but grazing his skin with my teeth elicits the moaning I’m hoping for. The sound is a green light: he wants in the same way that I want.

“Yuri?” Victor whispers. I’m not in the mood for talking; I’m in the mood for him. Instead of replying, I push his shirt up and wedge my leg between his. “Yuri, wait.”

Wait? He expects me to wait? I run my fingers across the skin just above his jeans. If he’s going to make me wait, I’m not going to make it easy for him. “What is it?”

Victor shuts his eyes, taking a shaky breath before smirking. “I think we have an audience.”

Over my shoulder, two sets of poodle eyes are locked on us. They aren’t people, and they don’t know what’s going on, but it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. I step back, gasping, and remove my hands from Victor. He laughs, but I roll my eyes. “Shut up.”

“I’d suggest we go to my room, but we’re already in it.”

Taking the hint, I drag Victor to my room and shut the door. My plan is to push him onto the bed, but his shirt tag is sticking out towards his chin; I forgot it was on backwards! I start laughing, collapsing on my back into the mattress. “Why is your shirt still backwards?” My view of the ceiling is quickly obstructed by Victor, knees on either side of my waist. He places a kiss next to my ear, forcing all the air from my lungs.

“You never dared me to take it off.”

Victor’s lips and tongue create a trail from my ear down my neck, marking me for death; he will surely be the end of me. The light streaming through the thin curtain illuminates his silver hair, his ivory skin, while he gets comfortable on my lap. I haven’t turned the lamp on, and I don’t recall flicking the switch by the door, yet I can see him so clearly. My eyes dart to the window, a definite round shape peeking down from the sky. “Victor.” I pull his face so our eyes can meet. The storm in Victor’s eyes calms only slightly when he blinks.

“What?”

In the silence, I find that, well, there is silence; it hasn’t been this quiet in the entire time I’ve been here. Our time together is running out and I know it. In a desperate attempt to fight this realization, I cradle Victor’s face, bringing it down to mine. His kiss is passion, it’s careful, it’s safety, it’s fire. It makes me forget that he’ll pack up and leave soon. “It’s stopped raining.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drink responsibly, yo ;P Oh, and see? The misunderstanding isn’t the hurt that needs comfort; the real issue is just below the surface. ..for now hahha BTW, am I the only one who thinks “cos” looks ghastly to shorten “because?” I can’t stand it XD Also, I’m sad to see the rain go, but it’s time for the sun to shine next chapter ~


	8. Photograph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Were you expecting the last chapter to go that way? Hahha don’t worry, this next one isn’t a downward slide or the start of angst. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and feel free to let me know what you think or if you find any typos :3

My head is too heavy for my neck; I groan when I try to lift it for the fourth time this morning. Well, I think it’s morning: light’s streaming in through the window. My eyes haven’t opened yet; I massage them before finally surrendering to the sun’s badgering. “Fine, I’ll get up.” When I hear my own voice, I cringe; it’s raspy and slurred. What was I doing last night, anyway? Sitting up, I scrub my face, attempting to fetch a memory of the previous night. “I talked to Phichit, I skipped dinner. I think I was cleaning?” I grope for my glasses on the nightstand. Now that I can see clearly, I notice Vicchan isn’t around. “Vicchan?” I frown. He always follows me to my bedroom, even here in the guesthouse. The door is shut, so there’s no way he left. I stand from the bed but immediately gasp: I’m not wearing pants! With Victor just down the hall, I’ve been careful to maintain a certain level of dress and…wait, Victor: I was with him last night. Leaning back, I shut my eyes, trying to remember what transpired after I left the main house. “Okay, we came back here. I remember that.” I roll over on my side finding Victor’s scent surrounding me. Oh, this seems familiar…embraced by warmth, inhaling subtle cologne, feeling vulnerable and secure. My eyes pop open, heat rushing to my face. “I kissed Victor!” Images of kissing, holding, caressing, heavy breathing flash behind my eyes. If I remember correctly, we both enjoyed ourselves, so where is Victor now? I quickly get dressed and check on Vicchan; Makkachin is with him so Victor has to be around somewhere, yet I don’t find him in the house. A pot of coffee has been made, and there’s a mug in the sink. For some reason, Victor prefers to reuse the same cup rather than dirty one of the many others; I think I’ll try to use that one tomorrow just to see what he’ll do without it.

The sun isn’t shining very brightly outside. While the rain has stopped, the clouds remain in thin layers to paint the sky grey. It’s a relief to be able to stand out here in only a sleeved shirt; the cold was starting to become a burden. I hear birds chirping and frogs calling over another sound I’ve grown accustomed to: a camera shutter. The ground is soft under my footsteps, still damp from the past storms. Following the sound brings me to the main house’s backyard. The patio is mostly empty, save for an old gardening hose and a few rusty tools. A wooden bench used to be hidden under a tarp near the fence in the corner, but now it’s uncovered with Victor sitting on it. He’s photographing the trees behind the fence, the ones that droop over the barrier like they’re reaching towards him, boasting tiny buds. At the sound of my steps, Victor turns and waves. “Hi, Yuri!” His smile is bright enough to blind me, but it makes me blush instead.

“I didn’t know where you went, but when I saw Makkachin, I knew you couldn’t have gone.” I lean against the bench until Victor pats the space beside him, obliging him by taking the seat.

“Of course I didn’t leave!” He leans over and places a warm kiss on my forehead, turning back to the trees to take more pictures. “Did you sleep alright?” Victor asks, like sharing a bed and taking pictures of my old house and kissing me are the most normal things in the world. It takes me a moment to recall the question he asked, though I’m not sure how to answer him.

“Well, I think so, but can I ask you something?”

“Go right ahead.”

“This is going to sound bizarre, but…do you think you can tell me what happened?” I hate how small my voice sounds. I shake my head, sitting up straighter. “I mean after we went to my room.”

Victor laughs, turning to photograph in the direction of the house. “You did drink more than I did. After we went to your room, you couldn’t resist me, and we started wrestling on your bed. I didn’t know you were such a good kisser, but it was a wonderful surprise.”

He’s serious, isn’t he? I smack my forehead, embarrassed at how direct this man can be. “Okay, but did we…” Why can’t I get the words out?

“Have sex?”

Yeah, those were the words I was looking for. “Did we?”

Victor finally puts his camera down to turn to me. That pink flush is back on his face, his smile warming me from the inside. “No, not so far, though you were very excited to get my clothes off.” He laughs, finding humor in my shame.

“Victor!”

“Don’t be embarrassed!” Victor nudges me with a smirk. “I rather enjoyed it, even if you didn’t want me to do the same.”

“I what?”

“You wanted to keep your shirt on, so I didn’t take it off.”

Well, that’s a relief; he surely would’ve walked out had he seen me shirtless. “Oh, good.”

“I disagree but respect your opinion.” Victor chuckles. While he resumes his photography, I watch his expression change. His eyes harden before he captures an image, holding his breath with his smile frozen in place. After the shutter sounds, his shoulders relax on an exhale. Does he mean to hold his breath, or does it simply happen subconsciously? Does he know his eyes turn serious when he finds the shot he’s looking for?

“So, um, did you sleep okay?” In my haste, I’d forgotten to ask him.

Victor brings his camera down from his face with a nod. “I did! It’s been a while since I slept on a real bed.” He laughs.

“Is that something you’re interested in?” Not only do I feel guilty for making Victor sleep on the couch, the prospect of getting another night of restful sleep at his side is too enticing to let pass. Victor blinks in thought. “I mean sleeping on a bed again.”

He taps his chin in thought. “Oh my! Isn’t Yuri the audacious one: inviting me into his bed.”

“Victor.” I roll my eyes. Retracting the offer would certainly show him, but that wouldn’t benefit either of us in the long run. His smile grows at my chiding.

“I’m flattered.” Victor’s eyes gleam. “And I accept.”

Another night with Victor, famed photographer; what I did to deserve such a treat is irrelevant, and all I can do is smile. He kisses my forehead again and resumes taking pictures. At one point, he leaves the bench to look over the fence and photograph there. Victor takes a lot of time to stare at things, like he has no plan or direction when he lifts that camera. I follow him to the patio; I’m not about to star in a photoshoot looking like this. “Wait for me to get out of the way.” I stand next to him. I think the bench may make a good picture, but he isn’t looking at it: Victor’s looking at me. “Don’t want to ruin the shot.”

“You could never.” He insists. “Actually, would you like to take a few shots?” Victor offers me his camera. My jaw drops, alarmed at the idea of using it when I have no business doing so.

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Victor raises an eyebrow but doesn’t frown.

I shake my head, staring at the black device in his hands. “That’s yours, and I really shouldn’t.”

“Would you prefer your own?”

Somewhere in the back of my head, I know that’s not the real problem. I can’t let this learning opportunity go to waste but I’m in no mood for failing in front of Victor, not after what happened last night. Again, I shake my head but manage a smile. “I think I’d rather just watch you today, if that’s alright. I don’t…I don’t think I’m inspired right now, sorry.”

With a smile, Victor lifts the camera to his face again. “No need to apologize: that’s a very good reason. You know, the second I woke up, I had to come out here.”

“Why?”

“Inspiration struck.”

Watching him work is truly a joy. Yes, taking pictures can light a fire in me, but watching Victor do it is intriguing! He moves so gracefully from one spot of the yard to another, stretching and angling himself as needed, strength freezing him until he gets his shot; his expression changes from focused to thrilled to simply enthusiastic, eyes lighting up and intensifying. Victor throws himself into his work, overcome by whatever has inspired him, humming an unknown tune and roaming the yard as if it’s the only place he’s ever dreamed of standing on. The last time I took pictures, I sat around the living room, clicking away as though I had no vision. What does it take to be like Victor, passionate and elegant behind the viewfinder? I want to be like that, and I want to take pictures unlike anyone’s ever seen, but I’m not Victor; my images will never be as good as his. Then again, my best will still be better than my current level; that’s all I can do, anyway. I yawn, not bored but lacking caffeine of any kind. “I think I want some tea. Do you want anything?” I interrupt Victor’s progress.

“Tea would be fantastic. Thank you.”

While the water boils, I run through the shower. A nagging beep sound pushes me to run to the kitchen where I’ve left my phone: Mari called. I lower the burner on the stove and call her back. “Sorry, I was in the shower.”

“At one in the afternoon?” Mari scoffs. “Hope you aren’t having insomnia again.”

Oh, I was indeed up all night, but she doesn’t need to know this. “No, I was busy. Just got a late start today.” My sister isn’t big on phone conversations; what made her call? “Did something happen, or is everything good?”

“Well, it’s nothing bad, but I wanted to tell you this right away.”

“What is it?” Every one of my fingers goes cold; urgent news is never good news.

Mari sighs. “Okay, it’s nothing you need to worry about: the buyer wants to go up there in, like, three weeks. Dad said twenty days, but yeah, you’ll have to be there to hand off the keys to the new owner.” Twenty days?! That’s all the time I have left with Victor? He’ll never be able to teach me enough in that time! “That’s doable, right?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “I can have it all ready by then.” I won’t be ready, but the house will be.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, or anything.” She knows how I can handle information of a certain nature. “I just thought it’d be best to tell you straight, and wasn’t sure if you’d get around to your texts soon.”

“No, it’s okay. It’ll get done.”

“Cool. How’re you doing, kiddo?”

Very good question. I prepare the tea for both of us, using a different mug for Victor than he’s used to. “I’m fine. It finally stopped raining.”

“Hallelujah.” Mari chuckles. “Get to town while you can. Never know when bad weather will strike again.”

“Good point. Yeah, as soon as the bridge is clear. How’re things there?”

She sighs for nearly ten seconds. “Busy. You know how people get in the spring. ‘It’s too hot. It’s too cold. There are hornets at my window. Birds keep waking me up.’ We can’t control the weather, people.” Mari makes a whiny voice to mock our tenants; they tend to be a handful when the weather improves. I laugh, shaking my head.

“You’ll get through it. We always do.”

“Barely.”

We only chat for a minute or two longer before she has to go. I leash up both dogs and open the door for them ahead of me, following with a cup in each hand. Makkachin runs to the yard where I left Victor, Vicchan trotting behind her. “Now you won’t have to be stuck inside all day.” I tell my poodle. “I know you miss the courtyard back home, but I’m sure you’ll like the yards here.” Vicchan doesn’t need a leash at home, which I think he prefers. When he was a puppy, he was too nervous to explore the courtyard beyond the first couple feet; once he got bigger, Vicchan felt more confident in stepping through the grass and even over to the small rock garden. Makkachin runs circles around Victor, tangling her leash around his legs. “Makkachin, that’s not what a leash is for.” I laugh, handing a mug to Victor. His fingers gingerly wrap around the patterned cup, mouth set in a surprised shape.

“For me?”

“It’s only tea.”

Victor’s smile turns my stomach upside down, nerves flooding back to me as they did the day we met. “But not in the guest cup! It’s one of yours.” He swiftly untangles himself, letting Makkachin loose and sipping his tea. His gratitude increases my heart rate; something so simple puts an adorable smile on Victor’s face and I can barely handle it. When he stands upright, he motions to the bench. “Come sit with me?”

I can’t say no; I sit close to one end, relaxing into the wood and wire frame with an exhale. Not only does Victor take the seat next to me, he sits so close that our shoulders and knees touch. My skin warms at the points of contact. “How’re the pictures going?”

“Wonderfully.” Victor grins. “It’s beautiful here!”

“Eye of the beholder, I guess.”

“Since I don’t know this area, would you like to come with me on a walk? We can take Makka and Vicchan.” 

I nod. “I’d like that.”

Victor sets his hand on my thigh. My muscles tense under his touch; was last night not a singular occurrence or could he have developed an attachment to me? He may be feeling any number of things but I only know what I’m feeling: my heart wants more than a teacher and a friend. When most of his tea is gone, Victor removes his hand and turns to me. “Yuri, I don’t know what the future holds and I’m not going to pretend I do.” His words may sound somber, but his eyes remain bright. “But I do know that I’m glad the storm hit when it did, and it’s been too long since I’ve felt this at home anywhere or with anyone.”

On rare occasions, I feel a pain in my chest for Victor; it isn’t because he neglects to discuss his past. No, it’s because he paints over his past with forced smiles and changes of conversation topics. I can’t change what’s happened to him, but I can help make the best of things now. “It may be selfish, but I…I’m glad you haven’t left yet.”

My heart melts into a puddle of silly goo when Victor’s eyes light up. It’s hard to believe I’m partially to blame for that look on his face. Victor threads his fingers through mine, slightly pulling me towards him as he leans over. Our kiss isn’t hurried or dripping with passion; it’s gentle while we take our time getting acquainted with each other’s sober lips, tasting carefully. I reluctantly pull away, the need to breathe conquering my need for contact with Victor, blinking up at him. He presses a kiss to the back of my hand, squeezing it twice. “After you, Yuri.” Victor grins. 

We leave our cups behind on the bench, taking hold of the leashes and head down the forked path. The trees are clustered in places off to the side, hiding a trail Victor might enjoy exploring. “This way, Vicchan.” I direct my poodle off the path and across the overgrown weeds and grass. Vicchan isn’t jumping for joy at the tall plants that are often taller than him, but he trudges through. I’m sure he’s glad to be on the trail now: the dirt and plants here aren’t so intimidating. Some plants, what I believe to be wildflowers set to bloom in a month’s time, are still dripping with leftover rain while others seem to be dry to the touch. I reach out to feel a dry stem in passing, humming at its unbothered state; these plants don’t mind storms in the least. “These should be pretty sometime soon.”

“What will?” Victor asks me.

“Oh, these wildflowers. They’ll flower soon since it’s their time of year.” I reply, staring at all we pass. The green color is striking, even while being surrounded by other shades of green. Victor pulls off a length of the plant, humming while we continue our walk. “So this is the trail that goes to the river. Can you hear it?” Even with the sounds all four of us make, I can make out the subtle rush of the water nearby. Victor shakes his head, not thinking to stop humming in order to hear what I can. “When we get closer, you’ll hear it. My dad says it’s soothing, but I think it’s distracting.”

“How so?”

“I tried to read at the shore before, but the sounds of the water and the animals and everything were too loud and I couldn’t focus.” I shrug.

“You don’t care much for nature, do you?”

I wouldn’t say I don’t care for it, but it’s harder to explain than I’d like; getting into detail would involve divulging information I keep buried underground. “It’s not that I hate being outside, necessarily.” I sigh, stepping over gnarled roots across the path. “I’ve lived in the city all my life and nature just…I guess I feel indifferent about it.”

“Really?”

“Maybe it’s this specific location.” I scratch at the back of my neck. “I don’t know, Victor. It’s not as simple as hating all things outdoors.”

Victor turns to me, slowing his steps. “What place inspires your photography, then?”

Telling Victor about my lost dreams is a must if he’s going to teach me anything; getting through all the details is definitely going to be hell, though, and I know it. “I haven’t really…um, I don’t take pictures that way anymore.” Shame; my head hangs, heavy with the disgrace that I’ve neglected my passion for so long. I have my reasons, but it doesn’t soothe my wounds.

“Before you stopped, then, what lifted your camera up?”

“Not the outdoors.” I scoff, adjusting my glasses. “I saw interesting and unique things and took pictures. Whatever catches my eye.”

Victor’s face lights up with a grin, arms extended out at his sides. “That’s perfect! It’ll be simple enough to find something you want to photograph, then, and I can teach you about what I do with my images.” The volume of his voice increases along with his interest in topic; I’d hate to disappoint him or waste his time. I’ll need to find a muse before tomorrow, lest Victor realize his mistake in offering to help me out and rush to get out of here. “Yuri?”

I hope I didn’t space out and ignore him! “Sorry. What is it?”

“You seem distracted, but there’s no need for an apology.” Victor shakes his head.

“I was thinking about what to photograph.”

“Right now, we don’t have to think of work.” He shrugs. “We can talk about anything, and let our minds wander wherever they want to go. You can’t force inspiration.”

The river is just up ahead, now in sight. I point towards the source of the low rumbling. “River’s just up ahead.” Closest to this bank, the water is gentle and relatively clear; on the other side, the side where the train tracks sit, the current isn’t as kind and the temperature is a few degrees lower. I walk ahead of Victor and stop just short of where the grass turns to dirt and loose stones, taking a seat with Vicchan in my lap. “This is it!” Maybe the river isn’t such a nuisance; it’s kind of pretty, glittering under the slight sunlight. Luckily for me, Vicchan isn’t interested in exploring the water; Makkachin, on the other hand, tugs on her leash to inch closer to the bank.

“Makka, it’s not hot enough to go swimming yet. In a few days, maybe, but not today.” Victor explains to her as he takes a seat beside me. Makkachin reluctantly does likewise, resting her head on his knees. “Wow, it’s beautiful!”

“You know how we can hear the train pass at night?” I ask him. Victor nods, so I point across at the other bank. “That’s where the tracks are. They go along the river and cross through town, next to the library. The first time I heard the train, I was outside and thought it was some kind of monster.” I smirk, slightly shaking my head. “It sounded so close and so loud that I ran into my room and hid under my bed.”

“Aww, poor little Yuri.” Victor elbows me, eyes cast at the plant in his hands. “You’d never heard a train before?”

“No, not that closely. Back home, we’re not close to anything but city streets. The most I ever heard were car horns and sirens.” I shrug. Victor’s fingers seem to be braiding or twisting the pliable green stem. As I mentioned, it would’ve become a wildflower with more time.

“That’s fair. I grew up with foghorns.”

No wonder he’s pulled to the sea; it’s hard to let go of what we’re used to. “I’ve never really been on a boat.”

“You should try it.” Victor looks over to me, beaming. “It can get cold and really windy if you’re outside, but I think that’s part of the fun.” The last time he spoke about the docks, his eyes became stormy; now, on the subject of boats, Victor’s eyes sparkle with glee and anticipation, like he’ll be on a boat soon enough. “Look, Yuri.” He holds up the knotted and curved plant he’d been toying with, now bent in a ring. I’m not sure what it is; it looks like a circle to me, but for what? Victor laughs, moving onto his knees. “Here, I’ll show you.” He places the rounded plant on my head, like a crown, and leaves a kiss on my hairline. He sits back to admire his work, grinning with a flush over his face. “Perfect.”

I’m sure he means the stem hoop; I run my fingers over the tiny bits of braid and knots. “How’d you get it to bend in a circle without it breaking?”

“I was just careful.” He shrugs. “I wanted it to turn out right, so I didn’t rush it. Do you like it?”

Even if it looked horrible, there’s no way I’d dislike it. I smile at Victor, resting a hand over his. “I do. Thank you.” Does Victor look at anyone else this way, or is this smile new for him? “If you want, we can come back here. Like, if you’re interested in taking pictures of the river or something.”

“I’d like to come back.” Victor replies, squeezing my hand softly. “Would you be interested in taking a ferry ride with me one day?”

One day. We only have these days, not other days. We can count the days we have with each other and there simply is no time to travel to the coast and come back. Victor’s hand in mine seems so sure and steady, hope of more days lingering in his touch. “Like, for photography?” I can’t allow my silly wishes to cloud my senses.

Victor laughs. “No! I mean for fun. I think you’d really like it.”

He’s probably right, but there’s no sense in planning what can’t be. “I think you’re right.” We should focus on the time we actually have. “Have you thought about what you want to buy when we drive in town?”

“We still have a couple days to think about that, don’t we?”

“Yes, but it’s good to plan things ahead of time.”

“Hmm.” Victor leans back, eyes on the trees overhead. “I want to make your favorite food, but I hadn’t thought of much else. Do you think we can walk around, or is there nothing to see there?”

“It’s really small.” I laugh. “I mean, I can show you some of the old buildings but we probably won’t find anything of real interest. Well, unless you like empty sidewalks and small talk with strangers.”

Makkachin stands up and stretches, bored of being immobile. Vicchan doesn’t require as much activity as she does. Victor doesn’t stand with her, though, but keeps his eyes on the poodle. “As long as I can go with you, I don’t mind what we do.” He turns to me, one eyebrow raised. “Is it a good idea to leave the dogs?”

“Since it stopped raining, they can be left in the main backyard. The fence should work, right? Makkachin’s not that tall.”

“You’re right.” Victor rests his back against the ground, tugging on my hand. “Come lie down. The clouds are lovely.” He insists. I hug Vicchan and join Victor, squinting when the brightness of the sky blinds me. How is he staring up like the light doesn’t hurt his eyes? “Thanks for bringing us here. I like it a lot.” Victor whispers, moving closer to me until our shoulders are touching. When he points out clouds that look like poodles and flowers, gestures at the darker shades of grey in the sky, Victor keeps our hands clasped. Every now and then, when we laugh or I tell him about my old visits here, he’ll grip my hand tighter. Sometimes he’ll turn to me with a heart-shaped smile, blue irises endlessly deep the moment we make eye contact. I don’t want to get too lost in that stare; I won’t have the luxury of seeing it for much longer, after all. As certain as I am of this fact, I’m also certain that I’m a fool for this man and find myself curling against his warm shoulder, head on his chest, anyway. I know I’ll pay for this later, but I don’t care; Victor’s here with me, and I’ll worry about the unpleasant realities some other time. I close my eyes, listening to Victor talk about desserts and puppies, and allow myself to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, my stress level is ridiculous ATM and coming back to this AU is a haven. I truly appreciate the time y’all take to read and comment; it often makes my day and makes writing this even more rewarding!


	9. Damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, this fic is about growth; the ups and downs are learning experiences and aren’t there to simply induce anxiety and such. This chapter was originally going to be short, but once I got going, I had to limit what I wrote in order to best get what I wanted to say across properly. TL;DR: this chapter isn’t fluffy but totes necessary.

Aside from cleaning and organizing the old rooms, the outside of the house also needs to be in check. It’ll be simple enough to take a walk around the property and make a note of what has to be tended to; getting out of this bed, however, isn’t so simple. Victor’s arm is heavily draped over me, the rest of him pressed to my back. His skin is warm; I can feel it through my shirt, anchoring me to the mattress. When I try to sit up, Victor pulls me back down with a hum in protest. It makes me smile, even after the fourth time. I suppose it’s nice to feel desired. “Stay, Yuri.” Victor mumbles, bordering on whining. I don’t think he realizes what time it is or that I have work to do. On a sigh, I let my eyes shut again and rest a hand on his. Victor’s exhale tickles the nape of my neck, eventually becoming his lips instead of his breath. “Don’t get up yet.” He whispers.

“I don’t want to, but I have to.”

“Why?”

Victor slowly drags me onto my back, angling my face to look at him. The movement is so gentle, I don’t open my eyes right away. His hand on my jaw and the other beneath my back is the way I’ve dreamed of being held: secure, cherished. I finally open my eyes to find Victor watching me with a blend of intensity and softness I’m not used to. “I have to find out what needs repairs around here and find a way to get them fixed.”

“Can I convince you to stay a little longer?” Victor smirks, eyes suddenly sly.

“Victor…”

“Only what you’re comfortable with.” He chuckles. “I don’t want to start the day yet.” Victor kisses my cheek, then the other, before pushing his lips onto mine. His touch is so light, I hardly believe it’s even there: mouth over mine, fingers in my hair, hand on my waist. My own grip finds its way to the nape of Victor’s neck and his soft back. Unlike me, Victor sleeps in only his boxer briefs; he has yet to try and take my shirt off since the night I apparently stopped him in my drunken haze. Yes, there’s work to be done but I only want him: to taste, touch, submerge myself in. It’s getting later on in the morning, so I keep my hands above his waist and resist the urge to tuck his hands beneath my shirt. Victor’s languid kisses are too much to ignore; nibbles on my lower lip, laps at my tongue, firm presses to my mouth. No, I have to get up and get ready for the day. I slow Victor down, pulling away just enough for him to get the idea. He groans, rolling onto his back and pulling me above him. On his lap, he’ll realize how heavy I am; I don’t want that! I try to move to his side, but he hugs me in place, probably suffocating him.

“Victor, I’m too heavy for this!”

“I disagree.” Victor lets me sit up, at least. “Do you have to get up?” His hands are on my thighs, thumbs stroking the skin near my knees.

“Yes, I really do.” I nod.

He sighs, smiling in spite of himself. “Okay, fine. What’s your plan?”

“I need to shower and change, and then I’m going to walk around both houses and note what needs to be fixed. I’m sure there’s someone in town who can help if repairs need to be made, but that’s pretty much it.” I shrug. This view of Victor isn’t one I ever expected to see, but I could absolutely get used to.

Victor nods, exhaling. “While you shower, I can find something to eat, then you can start your inspection while I finish waking up.” I laugh at his dramatic yawn. “Would you be willing to show me some pictures from your collection? I’d like to see what you’ve done so far, and maybe we can take some instant shots to get a feel for your technique and interests.” That doesn’t sound too bad; I’m not proud of my portfolio, but Victor must view it in order for me to learn anything. “Does that sound okay, Yuri?” Victor finds my hands, threading his fingers through mine.

“That sounds alright.”

He smiles up at me before bringing my hands to his mouth. “Good.”

I give Victor one last kiss and tuck him back in; he insisted on bringing my old quilt with him when I agreed to let him sleep in the bed, so I wrap it around him with care. Both of us move in slow motion from our separate shower shifts through breakfast, sneaking kisses now and then until I slip on my shoes and take Vicchan outside with me. I keep him close by, not willing to let him wander too far from my sight, as I search the guesthouse for any glaring exterior problems. Should the paint be redone? Perhaps some touchups are in order, and nothing more. On my phone, I start a memo with the concern at the top of the list. One of the shutters needs to be straightened out. I once asked my dad what shutters were for; I mean, they’re always stuck to the sides of the house these days rather than used to keep light out. He told me that he knew why people made houses with nonfunctioning shutters, but claimed he was very busy budgeting bills and I should ask my mom instead. I later found him playing cards with Mari, and my mom reminded me that she was the one who worked out the bills. I can’t help but laugh at the memory; my dad knows how to spin words when necessary.

After looking around the guesthouse, I decide to check out the fence; it goes around both houses’ backyards, cutting between them to keep the main one secure. As I assumed, some panels of the old wood need to be aligned and nailed again in proper places. Just as I start typing out the note, I get a text from Phichit: ‘Are you up yet??’ I’m sure this is about his new friend; the other day, he mentioned that they ran into each other again and he didn’t get a chance to ask his name.

‘Yes, it’s after twelve. Of course I’m up.’ I reply.

‘Let me facetime you’ Phichit texts a minute later. While I wait, I scan the rest of the fence and head for the main house’s backyard. Vicchan stops to stare at a ladybug; he almost licks it from the blades of grass, but I scold him. He blinks up at me, turning again to the insect. Apparently too enticing, I guide us away from the bug just as Phichit calls. His smile takes up nearly all of the screen, joy bursting from his seams. “Yuri! I have the most exciting news!”

“You found out his name?”

“Even better!” Phichit stands from his swivel stool, walking around his work table in his studio. He’s working on another depiction of his hamsters in highly saturated colors; I can see it while he waves his hands around, gesturing wildly. “He asked me if I wanted to meet up at this new place in town for dinner! Can you believe it? He put his number in my phone and it took me forever to find it because I didn’t know what I was looking for.” He laughs. “I think I’ll wait to follow his Insta. You know, in case the date doesn’t go well?” Phichit’s giggle speaks volumes; I know he’s smitten with this guy and there aren’t many things that can stop his feelings.

“And you’re sure it’s a date?”

Phichit smirks, eyes slightly narrowed. “You be the judge. He said he heard from a prof that there’s a new sushi bar in town and asked me if I was interested in trying it out with him.” Phichit rolls his eyes. “Besides, even if it’s not a date, we’re still hanging out. He’s cool, and a total babe.”

“It’s so easy for you to make friends.” I sigh. “Are you two going alone? I won’t be there to chaperone in secret.” This is indeed something we’ve done for each other in the past.

“We’ll probably see other coworkers there since there’s been a lot of talk about it, but it should be a table for two. I’ll send pictures and stuff, though; don’t worry.” Phichit grins. “Well, unless we go back to my place, or something. Then I’ll show you those pictures in person.” I shake my head at his laughter. “At least one of us should be getting laid!”

“Phichit.”

“It’s true! Unless there’s something you haven’t told me…” The statement is enough to turn my face bright red and warm to the touch; Phichit’s wink is simply overkill. I cover my face while he laughs and betrays my faith in him. “Is there?! Holy shit, Yuri, tell me everything!”

Believe it or not, I’ve already told Phichit everything. Not in detail, of course, but enough that he has no reason to ask for more information. I wasn’t trying to brag or dish too much, but my best friend and I have no secrets. “No, I didn’t mean that! You already know everything.” I shake my head.

“So you haven’t had any sex with Victor?” His question is answered by my silence. “Is it because you’re nervous, or is he a tease? He doesn’t seem like that kinda guy from what you’ve told me.”

“He’s not a tease.” I smirk. Victor is a fairly direct man. “I just haven’t…gotten there with him.” Phichit’s dark eyes lose their mischievous glint, exchanged for a familiar sense of knowing. “I want to, and he wants to, but he understands that I don’t sleep around all the time.” Does that sound prudish? I’m not a prude; I don’t like having sex with people I don’t know well. “It’s dumb, I know, but Victor gets it.”

Phichit smiles, soft and supportive. “Hey, you do your thing. As long as you two understand what’s up and feel good about it, it’s all good. I just want you to be happy. And get off once in a while.”

“Really?” I roll my eyes at his laughter, yet again. Phichit can’t always be a mature influence. Vicchan suddenly yanks on his leash, chasing after a sprinting Makkachin. Wait, Makkachin? I turn towards the sound of footsteps, dropping the leash.

“Yuri!” Victor sings from around the corner. I gasp, turning back to Phichit. His smile grows, and I don’t think I like it.

“Let me meet him!”

“No way! You’ll say something embarrassing.” I frown at his suggestion.

“What could I possibly say? That you want him to throw you on a bed and have his way with you?”

Before I can tell Phichit that he’s getting on my nerves, Victor walks over with a camera and a tennis ball. “There you are! I thought you were in the other yard.” His eyes land on my phone before he inhales sharply. “I’m interrupting something, aren’t I? I’m sorry, I’ll just go over—”

“Hello!” Phichit shouts. Victor and I remain silent, exchanging glances Phichit can’t see. “Yuri, let me say hi.” He insists. Slowly, I turn the phone towards Victor so he can see my friend. He smiles with a wave, receiving a short round of applause from Phichit.

“Victor, this is my best friend Phichit. He teaches drawing at our university.”

“Oh, hello! It’s nice to meet you.” Victor’s voice carries more of an edge to it than I’m used to hearing. He doesn’t sound uncomfortable, but more polite? I think that’s what it is. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you, now? Probably not as much as I’ve heard of you!” Phichit teases. I walk over, standing at Victor’s side, so I can be included in the conversation. Phichit ignores my glare. “I’m sorry you had to meet Yuri in such an inconvenient way, but I’m glad he was finally able to meet you. He looks up to you, and admires your work.”

Victor nudges me with his elbow, flashing a smile that’s for me alone, and turns back to Phichit with only a smirk. “I’ve heard. I was actually going to take some pictures with him out here.”

“That sounds like exactly what Yuri needs!” Phichit waves a thought away. “I should let you two work, then. It was nice to meet you, Victor, and I’ll talk to you later, Yuri!” He ends the call right away, sending me a text: ‘OMG he’s so into you! Why aren’t you making a move?’ I ignore the text, pocketing my phone. Victor laughs, looping his arm through mine as we head towards our dogs.

“Your friend is funny.” He comments. “I’m glad you have a good friend like that.”

“Me, too. Mostly.”

He tosses the ball nearby, handing off the camera to me. “I know the feeling. Do you mind if I watch you take a few shots? Just to observe you in action.” Victor watches our dogs carry the ball around and chase each other, like they’ve invented their own form of keep-away. He places a hand on my shoulder, scanning my face for something he seems to find in my eyes. “I want to help you grow as an artist, but I can only do that if I know where you are now. Do you trust me?”

The truth is that I trust Victor more than I trust some of my friends back home, friends I’ve known for years. Trust is a terrifying thing when you think about it: it’s fragile while being one of the strongest forces in any relationship. I resist the urge to blink or look away, nodding. “Yes.”

My answer is rewarded with a smile that makes my heart flutter. “You can use mine.” Victor hands me the instant print camera, his other hand leaving my shoulder. I carefully bring it to my chest, using both hands to clutch it. “I want to see what you see. Don’t hold back, alright?” He takes a step aside, arms folded across his chest. That smile may be all kindness, but Victor’s eyes are fixed on me and burn where they land. Taking instant pictures is a vastly different experience than using my personal camera to find, focus, adjust and capture. The images Victor’s going to see won’t be very telling of what I can do, but I don’t want to question his methods; I trust that he knows what he’s doing.

“How many pictures should I take?” I ask, turning to look at Victor. The way he rests his chin in his hand, head slightly lowered, makes him look so serious.

“As many as you like.”

I nod once, looking back in the direction of our dogs. “Right.” I mutter. What should I take a picture of? I lift the camera up, squinting through the viewfinder at all my options. The trees have a nice glow to them, thanks to the high position of the sun. With the leaves that have grown back since the end of winter, there are too many shadows for my liking; there’s nowhere Victor’s eye would focus, so I keep looking. The fence is an interesting color, tawny hue contrasting nicely with the blue tones of the sky. Victor’s never taken pictures of fences, though; he probably wouldn’t find it interesting or inspired. The guesthouse has a quaint, cute quality to it: small, blue, compact. If I get it at the right angle, maybe I can exaggerate the boxy form. The more I move the camera, the less I see the opportunity to make the house look good. Sighing, I turn to the road. A picture of dirt? Victor would never want to see that! It isn’t nice to look at and it isn’t anything special. Maybe I could take another look at the fence. Oh, but it’s broken; that’s not something I want to share with Victor.

“Is something wrong?” Victor’s voice makes me jump, bumping the camera against my glasses.

“What? Why?” There’s no way he can sense my lack of inspiration. I mean, I don’t think he can.

“Don’t be shy! Just take some pictures.”

“I will.” I can’t find anything to photograph! If I don’t take any shots, I’ll just be wasting both of our time. My stomach starts to knot; I can feel Victor’s eyes on me, waiting for me to do something. Maybe the main house looks interesting from where I stand? I look up at the building, feeling about half a foot tall, and press the shutter button. That wasn’t too bad, but one image isn’t going to be enough. I photograph a window, then a nearby tree. I don’t want to take too many and waste all of the prints, but Victor did say to take as many as I want. Our dogs continue to play with the tennis ball, running in short lines with it. Their movement makes it tricky to find a decent shot, but I find a couple and let the prints fall to the ground with the others. Should I take more? I’m not sure what else I can photograph but Victor’s still watching me. I wonder if he thinks I’m an amateur; I took an eternity deciding what to take pictures of, and I didn’t take very many shots. He might change his mind about teaching me once he sees the prints; I wouldn’t blame him, either. My hands fumble with the camera as Victor suddenly clears his throat. Victor doesn’t look impressed; he looks somewhat bored, leaning against the fence. I knew this was a terrible idea! Now my fingers tremble, alarmed at how indifferent Victor watches me struggle. The last thing I want is for him to regret taking the time to work with me when he could be adding to his own collection. “I’m sorry.” I hang my head, bringing the camera down to my side.

“Yuri, do you always treat your photos this way?” Victor points to the ground at the scattered images near my feet.

“No, but I’m not attached to these.” I respond while slowly collecting the pictures in a pile.

Victor scoffs. “That’s no way to speak of your work.” I never knew his voice could sound so cold. I stand in place but finally return Victor’s stare. My knees feel like giving out, my feet like running away. “Even if they are terrible shots.” He gestures for me to come over and swipes the pictures from my grasp as soon as I’m within his reach. I know these pictures are bad; Victor doesn’t even need to say it for me to know it. I want so badly to capture something beautiful, something people will want to keep with them and cherish, but I can’t seem to do any of that. Maybe I should’ve listened to those voices in the past that told me to find another dream; instead, I’m standing in front of Victor while his eyes carelessly scan the trash I produced. The familiar sting in my eyes and the lump in my throat warn me of what’s to come. I never wanted Victor to see me cry. “Is this really what you see, Yuri?” He asks in an unamused tone, like I’ve insulted him by wasting his time and film. I’m failing him and I don’t know what I can do to turn this around, or if I can at all. If he echoes the words of my previous critics, there’s no telling if I’ll manage to recover. I cover my mouth, desperate to keep my sobs at bay. The look on Victor’s face tells me I’ve failed at that, too. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He sort of shakes me by the shoulders, but I turn away from him with my eyes shut. Seeing Victor’s disappointment is too much to handle. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I know I’m not talented!” I back out of his grip. Doesn’t he realize that I don’t want to talk about what’s wrong? Isn’t it obvious? “I’m nobody, and I’m no great photographer, okay?” My voice doesn’t sound familiar, but I don’t stop it. I snatch the pictures from his hand and hurl them to the ground. “These are fucking horrible, and I don’t need you to tell me that! I know you have better things to do than help me and my botched career, but I can’t stomach whatever it is that you’re going to say about these pictures.” Tears roll down my cheeks, leaving wet trails on my red-tinted skin. Air doesn’t fill my lungs without difficulty; I grip the front of my shirt, ignoring the pain in my chest just so I can attempt to breathe. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I’d sprouted another set of eyes or something with the look Victor’s giving me. I hate how people react to others when they cry; if I could stop the sobbing, I would, but I can’t. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” The volume of my voice is no longer in my control.

Victor blinks, searching my face for answers I don’t have. “I don’t…I don’t know what to say.”

“How are you so clueless about this?” I tug at my hair. “One of us has to believe in me, and it sure as hell isn’t me!” My legs ache, just holding me upright. I let myself sink to the ground, shoving the prints away from my vicinity. Any relief I can give my muscles right now, I’ll take; I shut my eyes and curl up on myself. If Victor walked away now, I wouldn’t blame him. In fact, I wish I could walk away from me, too. Instead of hearing footsteps travel in the other direction, I hear them coming my way. I try to lift my head to see what Victor’s up to, but find myself smothered in his embrace. Is he…is he hugging me?

“I’m sorry.”

Did I hear him correctly? “Victor?”

He squeezes nearly all the air from my lungs, resting his head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Yuri. I only meant to help you, not hurt you.” Victor’s voice sounds strained. We sit for a minute or two in silence, but I don’t move. His words don’t make the tears subside, but they do slow my heartbeats. “I guess I’m not doing the best job in motivating you.” He sighs near my ear; his head feels heavier now, like it’s too much for him to keep up on his own. “This is the first time I’ve tried helping another artist, and the last thing I want is to fail and let you down.” Wait, he’s afraid of disappointing me? How could such an esteemed photographer be concerned with the expectations of an unknown? Victor sits back on his heels to get a better look at me, gripping my shoulders with more force than necessary. “Believe me, Yuri, I want you to succeed and have the career you deserve. I want to help you be the best photographer you’re capable of being.” He moves his hands to cup my face with cold fingertips. Seeing Victor frown will never be a normal vision. “I’m going to try my best, but I need you to tell me when I mess up, okay?” Victor’s thumbs wipe away the tears under my glasses. Ugh, I feel like such a baby. I slip my glasses off and rub my eyes roughly.

“I feel so stupid for acting this way.” I mumble.

Victor shakes his head. “No, there’s no need. I may not be the best at handling crying people, but you have every right to express what you’re feeling.” He covers half his face, shaking his head again. “Maybe I pushed too hard.”

“I’m just bad, Victor.”

Instead of a response, Victor picks up a few of the pictures I’d thrown and looks them over again. He shows me one of the dogs, pointing. “This is one of your better ones. You didn’t hesitate to take the shot like you did with the others.” I roll my eyes before putting my glasses back on; that picture is blurry and ugly and he shouldn’t pretend otherwise.

“It’s bad.”

Victor’s frown becomes more severe. “No, it’s not. Yes, your subject was moving and the lighting can be improved, but you wanted to take it. Why is that?”

“I love Vicchan, and I wanted to take his picture.” I’m sure he’s familiar with this, seeing as how he has Makkachin. “He looked like he was having fun playing.” I shrug. There isn’t much else to it: my dog looked adorable and I pointed the camera at him. Victor holds up another photo.

“Then why did you hesitate to take this one?”

“It’s only a window. I didn’t really…I don’t know, care about it? I wanted to show you that I can still take pictures, so I took it.” He asks about the other pictures, but my response is the same for the remaining pictures: I took them so I can have something to show Victor. He shakes his head, wrapping his arms tightly around me again.

“Please, do this for you.” He sighs. “As an artist, you can’t let others be your drive. You have to do what you love because you want to do it.” Victor backs up and presses his forehead to mine. “Are you okay now?”

I nod, overcome with fatigue. Even standing feels like it’ll take too much energy. “Feel exhausted, though.”

“Do you want to go back inside? We can try this again some other time, when you’re feeling up to it.” Victor helps me to my feet, keeping one arm around my back. He gathers the pictures and our dogs before leading me back into the guesthouse. “Go ahead and rest. I’ll make some tea.” Victor leaves me on the sofa. What did he mean by taking pictures for me? Of course I love photography, but releasing pictures requires others to love it, too; I can’t focus on just what I want, can I? Not everyone wants to see Vicchan and bowls of katsudon, or my family members in candid shots. Isn’t it my job to take universally appealing pictures? Something in my gut tells me that I’m missing something; there’s a message in Victor’s advice that I haven’t deciphered, something that will help me understand how to get better at this. I take my phone from my pocket and browse my digital portfolio. The last time I looked at it was months ago, and I considered deleting it; I’m suddenly thankful I listened to Phichit and kept it intact. Victor found something in my print of Vicchan playing outside, so there’s a chance he’ll see something in my other images. He quietly steps back into the room, taking the seat beside me. “It’ll be a minute. Are you hungry?”

I think I’ve actually lost weight since arriving; splitting my food with Victor and only shopping once has limited my diet. I shake my head, handing my phone to Victor. “No, but I want you to see this.”

Victor blinks, confusion swirling in his eyes. “We don’t have to work now. We can take a break.”

“No, we can’t.” I remind him. “We don’t have a lot of time left here.” He still seems uncertain, so I nod. “I want you to look at my portfolio.” Nobody has seen it in its entirety, aside from me; my stomach is in knots, but if I want to show Victor what I can do and how much I can improve, he has to see my work. “Please, Victor.”

He nods once. “Okay.” Snaking his arm around my shoulders, Victor settles in and swipes through my collection of photos. I don’t know what he’ll say about them, but I’m prepared to listen and learn from Victor. He is my idol, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have another fic idea that has Phichit as the main character, but I promised myself to just stick to one published WIP at a time! The next chapter isn’t nearly as serious as this one, so keep an eye out for next week’s update ~


	10. Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe it’s time for another Victor chapter :D I just bought a Victor/Makkachin keychain and it’s absolutely adorbs hahha Anyway, this POV is a joy for me to write in, and I hope y’all have a good time reading it!

Twists and turns are all part of life, often when we least expect, sometimes when we least want, them to appear in our paths. I seldom stick to plans since they can change at any given moment without consent or any warning, but when I manage to get a plan together, I like for them to work out as intended. Today, I was supposed to go with Yuri to town before dinner for desperately needed groceries and to get out of the house. I started editing a photo I took last week while Yuri showered when I got a video call from my other student, Yuri Plisetsky. Naturally, he didn’t look happy to see me. “Hello, Yura!” I greeted him.

“What the hell are you still doing over there, dumbass?” Yura scowled at me. Believe it or not, he can smile; I still remember what it looks like, even though it’s been a long time since I’ve seen anything but a frown on his face. “You said you were leaving soon. What the fuck does soon mean to you?”

We talked for a while about work. I didn’t expect him to have much to say to me; ever since he became a teenager, Yura lost his sweet disposition. Okay, maybe he wasn’t exactly sweet to start with, but he was certainly less surly a few years ago. As a child, he grew up with his mother until she could no longer afford to support them both; that’s when his grandfather took him in. Shortly after, I found Yura as my colleague under Yakov’s guidance, no longer a prospective rising star but a full-fledged artist. He doesn’t share much with me, but I’d put money on his personal life changes being responsible for his new attitude; life can be hard to handle, and I don’t blame him for struggling with his emotions. I’ve been there before: paint on a fake smile or sharpen your claws.

It’s well into the evening now, long after when I told Yuri we should be heading out. I sigh, smiling at my computer screen. “I promise, I’ll spend time with you soon. I haven’t forgotten.”

“Yeah, well, your memory is starting to go, old man. You made a promise like that months ago.”

“Yura, be patient.”

He rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest. “I shouldn’t have to! I’ve been waiting forever. You’ve known me for years, yet you meet this guy for a second and he gets priority. It’s bullshit.”

If he saw how much potential Yuri has, he wouldn’t be singing the same tune. In all honesty, Yura’s lucky he has a history with me; if we didn’t know each other, there’s no way I’d help him out with such a bad attitude. One day he’ll see that it takes more than talent to make connections in this industry. “I do have a tip for you.” I tap my chin, considering his last collection of textural pieces. “If you want to showcase visual textures again, try to limit the saturation, and the number of colors in each photo. My eye didn’t know to settle on the foreground or background with such distracting colors.”

He doesn’t like this advice: I can tell by the rude gesture he makes at me. “Who are you to tell me anything? When was your last series released? Fucking hack.” I laugh at his words; he doesn’t know how massive my current project is.

“But котенок, I thought you wanted my advice.” I don’t hold back my smirk; seeing Yura’s face turn red with rage over nearly nothing makes it worth teasing him! He starts shouting at me in our native Russian, hands waving in wild gestures. This call has cost me time with Yuri and I admit that I’m not thrilled about that. The other day, he let me use one of his cups and let me see his old photographs; I don’t think he sees me as a guest anymore, or as such a stranger! As long as we continue to build trust, we can keep growing together as long as we want.

“I can’t believe I’m still talking to you. You’re such a pain in the ass.” Yura ends the call before I have the chance to tell him I was only teasing him. Well, that’s fine: now I can go out with Yuri! Where has he gone? Sometimes I find him in the kitchen, staring out the window. The view there isn’t what I’d call lovely or particularly interesting; I’m almost certain he doesn’t focus on what’s in front of him, remaining unfocused instead. Seeing Yuri’s warm eyes fill with such sorrow hurts me, yet also intrigues me: what causes such sadness, such loneliness, to wash over a wonderful man like him? Everyone has a past and a story behind them, but I want to find out who or what damaged my Yuri this way. I stand from the couch, hoping I don’t find him in the kitchen with that lonely look on his face. As luck would have it, he isn’t here, but all the dishes are washed despite me telling Yuri I’d get to them before we leave. I shake my head and walk to the bedroom, finding the door ajar. I knock anyway, just to be polite.

“Yes?”

Yuri’s voice sounds distant and hushed; I hope he’s feeling alright. When I push the door open, I find him sitting on the bed with a small digital camera in hand. At least he’s sitting upright. There have been times, I admit, where I’ve chosen to climb back into bed long after my day has started; those times were a feeble attempt to hide from the darkness that was once my constant companion. This malady doesn’t seem to be part of Yuri’s life, and I’m grateful for that. I lean against the mattress, finding it difficult to hold my smile back. “He finally ended the call. I’m sorry that took so long; I wasn’t expecting him to stay on like that.” After my apology, Yuri turns to me and blinks. He doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look excited to see me, either. “Are you terribly upset with me? I didn’t mean to spend so much time on the computer.”

“No, I’m not upset.” Yuri holds up the camera. “I was just thinking I could take this with us. Do you think that’s a good idea?” He asks with a brief twinkle in his eyes. When I looked through his portfolio, I saw a great deal of potential; Yuri has an excellent eye for detail, understands balance and knows how to draw the eye to one area of focus. What he lacks is exactly what Yura has in abundance: confidence. Getting him to believe in himself isn’t easy, but it’s a must.

“That sounds good.” I nod with a smile. “Just don’t focus on it too much. I think this trip should be an opportunity for us to relax together.”

A soft blush tints Yuri’s face, but he nods in agreement. “Okay. Should we get going?”

The sun is beginning its daily trip westward when we let our dogs out into the larger backyard. Yuri takes a quick shot of them before we decide to take my car to town; it desperately needs to be refueled and I don’t have a clue how to detach the trailer from the back of Yuri’s car. I dread thinking about that car driving away from me, off to adventures and destinations I’ll never witness for myself. No, I refuse to think about that; maybe I’ll watch Yuri drive off, but I won’t let him go off alone. There isn’t the slightest chance that our story ends when the month does. “You’ll have to give me directions.” I remind him when we start for the bridge.

“What do you mean?”

Some clouds are gathering off in the distance, darkening the road further. “I’m not familiar with this town, darling.”

“It’s basically a straight line, and then you’ll see a sign that says…yeah, okay, I’ll give you directions when we get there.” Yuri chuckles. He points to the radio, silently asking for permission to toy with it. I nod, not particularly invested in the current station it’s set to. Yuri increases the volume and browses the static, the scripture, the news, the unidentifiable lyrics of unknown vocalists. He sighs, sitting back against his seat. “Don’t get anything out here. What were you listening to when you drove in?” Yuri rests his head in his hand, elbow against the door.

“I had my phone plugged in. You can use yours, if you’d like.” I shrug. So far, it’s only this main road; no places to turn off or around. Do people live out here? I wonder if Yuri had any neighbors when he’d visit. “Are there other homes in this area?”

Yuri doesn’t bother to look up from his task, scrolling through playlists on his phone. “Yeah, but not for another couple minutes. There’s a farm up ahead, then a rundown shack with horses past that.” I glance at him when he pauses. He smirks in response. “If you decide that you hate my music, we can use your phone, okay?”

“I don’t think I’ll hate it.” I laugh. “Let’s hear it.”

“Okay.”

The music starts out quietly, a lone piano bravely marching through a series of quaking notes. It’s stressful to carry on with feigned strength, even more so when there’s nothing to lean on or hide behind. An odd beauty accompanies the stark sounds; I acknowledge the ache in my chest yet long for more: more silence, more sound, more pretty pain. Just when the piano loses some power, an interruption of strings lifts the melody and carries it off to newer, bolder places. Both instruments could make it on their own, but together, they create something breathtaking. “This is wonderful.” I steal a glance at Yuri, picking at his thumbnail. He peeks over my way, lifting his head. Those eyes could pull me across the planet and I’d follow without question. “Why would I hate something so amazing?”

“Your music is…well, livelier? Mine has a different tone, I guess.” Yuri scoffs at his own silliness. “I don’t know. I think I was hoping you’d like it, but accepting that you might not.”

“You second guess yourself too often.” I think he needs to hear this. “It doesn’t allow you to achieve a natural flow of action or thought.” Leaning over, I take one of his hands and hold it between us. “You have a brilliant mind, Yuri. Trust in it and you won’t need to listen to all the doubts.”

Yuri doesn’t say anything, but he does respond: his fingers clasp mine, squeezing a couple times in lieu of speaking any words. It wasn’t that long ago that Yuri would visibly flinch from physical contact, uncertain of touching me even on the hand. Once when we were cooking, he brushed by me multiple times and apologized after every occurrence, even after I told him it wasn’t warranted. This morning, Yuri took it upon himself to kiss me after breakfast, eventually pinning me on the sofa with demanding, wandering hands. It ended all too soon, but the fact that it was Yuri who initiated the contact speaks volumes about where we are now in terms of trust and growth. He points to the right at a painted wood sign. “That’s a farm. They decorate their fields with hay people.”

“Hay people?” I laugh. “What’re those?”

“You know, like snowmen?” Yuri chuckles. “But made from bales of hay, not snowballs.”

I can’t quite picture this; oddly square snowmen come to mind, but I’m sure that’s not right. I shake my head. “That sounds strange. Why do they do that?”

“Probably boredom.” Yuri shrugs.

We pass another private road and wonderfully shaded fields; the position of the setting sun casts shadows along the patches of green and adds an interesting tone to the dusty street ahead of us. Yuri doesn’t find the view as nice as I do; he spares it a partial glance and doesn’t touch his camera. I want to ask why he doesn’t photograph any of the scenery but dismiss the thought, refusing to pressure him into questioning himself. Yuri is a delicate person with a hidden strength I’ve only just begun to see. “I’m sorry I delayed us so much.” I’ve unintentionally shortened my time with Yuri, something I wish I could take back and do over.

“Victor, it’s alright.” He squeezes my hand again with a warm smile. How I adore that expression on Yuri! “We only have groceries to get, and that won’t take too long.”

“I thought we could walk around town?”

“It’s later, now, and going to get dark soon.”

Is that much of a problem? I didn’t think we needed sunlight to spend time together. “We’ll make it a quick stroll, then. Buy groceries, load up the car, go for a short walk.” That sounds fun to me, but Yuri only chews on his lip. “If you’d really rather not, we don’t have to. I thought it could be nice to get a change of scenery with you, that’s all.” I shrug. He should know that it’s him I’m interested in, not the town. Eventually, he exhales.

“Okay, but just for a little while.”

Yuri wants to go out with me! I’m so excited, I almost miss the turn he points out. The buildings in town have a simple cuteness to them; the residents probably don’t bother locking their doors, and know the full names of their neighbors. I bet they say grace before dinner and play baseball on the weekends. I wonder if there’s a bookstore, filled with used novels, or an ice cream parlor with a jukebox in the corner somewhere? Remote towns like this are a treat for the eye: pale architecture, manicured trees, curved streetlamps, unfinished sidewalks. I almost wish I had my camera with me, but don’t fret over its absence; I have Yuri to keep me busy. “Look at all the parking spaces!” One car sits in the lot, nearest to the store’s outer wall.

“It’s probably closing soon.” Yuri shrugs when we leave the car.

“Closing?” I check the time on my phone; it’s still early, too early for a store to be closing. “It’s only after six.” We walk hand in hand inside, our footsteps echoing in the odd silence. The register is empty and I don’t see anyone around the nearby shelves or produce sections. “Are we too late?” Such lack of noise compels me to whisper.

“No, that’s just how it is.” Yuri smirks over his shoulder as he fetches a shopping cart. “It takes a minute to get used to. Can I see the list?”

Yuri insisted I use my phone to make a note of all the items I want, then added his items to the list. Forgetfulness has been a part of my life since I was a child; I don’t forget important things, but remembering many small things at once is a difficult task. Luckily it doesn’t affect me much these days, not at all like when I was young. Well, it’s a good thing I listened to Yuri: we refer to the list throughout our shopping trip. The only things I remember to get are blackberries, nondairy coffee creamer, pork and cabbage. Yuri mentally sorts the items to speed things along, and I happily follow him around the aisles. He’s so clever; I adore him. “Hey, Yuri?” I want to tell him how cute he is but a short man nearly crashes into us when we round a corner. The horrified look across Yuri’s face strikes me as odd, but he holds his hands up in surrender.

“Please excuse us! I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Yuri apologizes far more than required. I haven’t decided if it’s endearing or frustrating; perhaps it’s one or the other depending on the circumstance.

“Oh, that was my bad! I didn’t know anyone was here.” The freckled young man blushes with a nervous smile. “I was just about to close up, but take your time. I’ll be at the register if you need anything.” With a wave, he rushes off. Yuri rubs at his forehead, shaken up from the mishap. It didn’t seem like much, but Yuri’s brain works on a different system than mine. I pat his shoulder and leave my hand there.

“Are you alright?”

He nods, pressing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t expecting that.” He doesn’t say more, but places his hand over mine and continues to cross out items from our list. Letting Yuri walk in front of me has its benefits: the man is working with a body that’s harder to resist with each passing day. Yuri catches me staring when we make our way to the register. “Victor?”

“Hmmm?” I drag my eyes up from his hips and ass to his blushing face. I certainly hope he wasn’t trying to carry on a vital conversation; I was quite invested in fantasizing about what those thighs of his can do. Yuri narrows his eyes at me but doesn’t frown. It makes me laugh. “What?”

My innocent tone fails to fool Yuri into thinking I’m anything but guilty. “Do I want to know what you were thinking?”

“Probably not here.”

“Did you find everything okay?” The cashier asks, interrupting Yuri’s shock. He shakes his head, turning has back to me.

“Yes, thank you.” Yuri answers the brief questions with equally brief responses. Small talk has always been a thing of mystery to me; why do people ask superficial questions they don’t want answers to? Come to think of it, why do people answer those questions with such apathy? It’s a cycle of politeness that doesn’t allow either party to glean any real information of interest or importance. I suppose have no room to talk: I perform the same dance at events when strangers and acquaintances ask how I’m doing and if I’d like another glass of champagne or a cigarette.

While the two are caught up in their verbal carousel, I pay for the items. Yuri opens his mouth to protest, but another male practically runs into the vicinity. “Hey, what’s keeping you…” The other man’s eyes widen when they land on us. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t realize we had any customers.”

“Oh, Leo: I ran into them when I was going to lock up.” The freckled one explains.

Leo points at Yuri, his mouth curving on one end in something of a smile. “I remember you! You came by a couple weeks or so ago, right? From out of town?”

Yuri smiles shyly with a nod. Does he always look at strangers that way? He didn’t look at me with such a cute smile when I first met him; Yuri actually looked a little terrified, if memory serves. “Yes, that’s me.”

“How long are you in town, again?” Leo asks. The cashier keeps his own little smile on his face, blushing beneath his freckles.

“A couple more weeks.” Yuri sighs. “I’m sure we’ll need to come back, now that the bridge is usable.”

“That’s right: you’re all the way out there.” The small man nods.

“Hope the drive wasn’t too bad.” Leo adds.

I can’t help but notice that my voice is lacking in this conversation. “No, but we need to find a place to fuel up and we should get going.” These bags are heavy, but I take most of them under my arms and nudge Yuri towards the door.

“The station’s probably closed by now.” Leo calls after us. “But I think there’s an old gas can back here somewhere.”

“You mean you can help us?” Yuri’s smile grows. “That’d be great!”

“Of course! Ji, would you mind locking up and meeting me at the car?” Leo asks the shorter man. As promised, Leo fills the tank with what he has while Yuri and I arrange the bags in the back. Naturally, this doesn’t come without a hefty dose of more small talk aimed at my Yuri, polite enough to oblige the stranger with a kind, listening ear. Ji honks the other car’s horn once, stealing Leo’s attention. “I better be going. It was nice running into you two!” With a wave, he finally goes about his business and drives away. Yuri pokes me in the ribs.

“Now we don’t have to put gas.” He smiles for only a moment. “You okay? You look tense.”

“I’m fine.” I shrug. “I didn’t know you made friends here.”

“More like acquaintances.” Yuri smirks. “Is that all?”

“Perhaps I felt left out of the conversation.”

“You hate small talk.” Yuri’s eyes intensify, smile becoming something more wicked than simple amusement as he turns to me in his seat. “Victor.” He strokes my hair back, lingering near my ear with warm fingertips. It’s a small gesture, yes, but it still leaves me shuddering. “Do I detect some jealousy?”

If this annoyance towards others taking up the time I could be spending with Yuri is jealousy, then I’m guilty as charged. However, we haven’t discussed the nature of our relationship; I have no rightful claim on Yuri, regardless of my feelings for him. In such a short amount of time, I fear he would retreat entirely if I revealed how much I wish he were mine alone. I’m sure the words will come to me when the time is right. As for now, I’d only like Yuri to understand that he’ll have a safe place to fall when he allows himself to do so. I pin his hand in place, leaning into his palm. “You may detect whatever you’d like, but I’ve been waiting to be with you all day and I’ve grown a bit impatient.” I let out a short laugh when his expression turns to sheer surprise; Yuri is too much for words. I tug on his hand. “Show me around?”

“You still want to?”

“Yes! I’ll follow your lead.” When I step out of the car, I wait for Yuri to meet me on the cracked sidewalk. He practically runs around the back, grabbing at my hand before he quite makes it to me. “Is something on your mind?”

His eyes dart all around us, searching in the dim glow of the evening. For what? I don’t know. “No, it’s just dark.”

“The streetlamps aren’t even on yet.” Their dark frames remain unlit, ready to illuminate the streets without notice. “What’s this building?” I ask the question several more times as we pass the closed businesses. A display of gardening tools and artificial flowers catches my eye; I bet they keep busy with the farmers around town! Yuri says they sell pickles at the counter, and has no explanation when I ask why. Another window gives us a view of used toys and kitschy garments thrown on mannequins to resemble outfits. Given an ample time frame, I could probably find hidden treasures there. The streetlamps switch on, causing Yuri to gasp. I give his hand a quick squeeze, asking more questions about the buildings we continue to walk by. Yuri shows me a bakery that used to be a café, mentioning the cookies sold there were too sweet, but he loved them anyway. His mother would insist that he share with his sister, but their father would sneak him more in secret. The owner moved to another city to be with her ailing parents, and it became a bakery that doesn’t sell cookies. Yuri jumps at the sound of a discarded soda can scraping against the bumpy pavement, pushed by a gust of warm wind. He presses his free hand over his heart, attempting to steady his breath with shut eyes. “Yuri?” If there’s a reason he’s so jumpy, I’d like to know it. “Please tell me if something’s bothering you.” I gently rub his shoulders, turning him to face me.

“It’s…it’s stupid.” Yuri shakes his head.

“There’s no need for that.” I don’t appreciate when Yuri puts himself down. “I’m sure it’s not.”

He sighs, meeting my gaze at last. “I’ve never been here at night. We always left before it got dark, and it’s…well, it’s creepy. It’s like nobody lives here, or something.” Yuri explains, cheeks reddening with each word. From living in a busy city, he’s gotten used to being constantly surrounded by people and never being alone; he’s mentioned that the boarding house is always full and never empty. I can understand why he may be uncomfortable, but I’d like to help quell his nerves. I slip an arm around his back, guiding us to the parking lot where we left the car.

“That’s not stupid. You’re allowed to feel any way you want.”

“It seems so childish, though.” Yuri wraps an arm around me and leans in.

“I respectfully disagree. Besides, we’re together: you’ve nothing to be afraid of.” I receive a soft smile that fills my heart to bursting. How fortunate to witness such a face, and to be held by its owner! I draw Yuri in closer, grinning at his willingness to let me do so. “Darling Yuri will be safe with me.” I place a kiss on the top of his head, easily reached from this angle.

Yuri laughs quietly at my side. “Wow, so brave!”

By the time we get back to the car, Yuri’s much more relaxed; his voice contains more enthusiasm as he tells me about his favorite café near his house. Apparently, they have tasty matcha lattes and noodle bowls that are perfect for relaxing on chilly afternoons. “That sounds wonderful! Do you go there often?”

“I try to only visit two or three times a week.”

“Since you work where you live, do you go out often?” I wonder aloud. Personally, I don’t have much of a social life; I chat with friends on the phone and online, but it isn’t every day that I go out with others.

The moonlight brings out a lovely glow in Yuri’s face; there isn’t a chance I could capture that in a photograph. He hums in thought, oblivious to how captivating he looks out here. “Sort of. Phichit drags me here and there, and I take Vicchan around the block every other morning.” Yuri sighs; the sound is neither distraught nor content. “I’ve taken my camera out a number of times, hoping to find something to shoot or draw inspiration from, but…well, I haven’t had much luck.” In his portfolio, only a handful of images are from the current year. As I told him, any picture is better than no picture; a complete absence of photos would show a lack of interest in the art, in which case I’d be quite worried. I open Yuri’s door for him, waiting for him to settle in before shutting it with an echoing thud.

“How do you feel your photography has progressed?” I ask once I’m buckled beside him.

“I think I need more practice.” Yuri turns to me, boasting a hint of a smile. “But when I feel better about being behind a camera, we can work on more technical stuff and editing. I mean, you know: if you want to.” He shrugs.

“I’d love to.”

Yuri plays his music in the car; it’s the only sound around us while he leans against my shoulder, clutching my hand. The tunes become familiar enough that I start humming along with them. If a short drive with Yuri feels this natural, this delightful, I can only imagine what a real road trip with him would be like. Just as we’re nearing the edge of the town, the red lights of a level crossing flash. I stop before the barrier lowers, shoulders falling at our blocked path. “We might be here a while.” Yuri presses a hand on my chest, heat seeping through the fabric of my shirt. I hope he knows what he’s doing; there’s no way he doesn’t realize it, eyes intense and fingers knotting in my hair. Words are superfluous at this point: our mouths are busy with other things. Yuri’s kiss is delicious and so soft against my lips. Tongue and teeth advertise a sense of urgency, tangled hands in my shirt and hair present passion. Yuri’s seatbelt is discarded to permit him more access to me, though he doesn’t quite climb over to my seat.

“Why don’t you come over here?” I whisper between kisses, gasping for air.

“Too heavy.”

“Not for me.” I insist. This doesn’t convince him to crawl into my lap, but he manages a smile. Well, before the train blares its horn; that makes him jump with a squeal too cute to not chuckle at. Yuri presses his forehead to my shoulder, grumbling incoherently. “I didn’t know people as adorable as you existed!”

“That fucking scared me.”

I wrap my arms around him. “Aww, Yuri: you’re safe with me, remember?” I ask. Yuri’s reply is a single kiss to my shoulder, long and firm. He nuzzles into my embrace with a soft exhale that I can classify as content. Never have I met a person who’s found a way to build such a stable home in my heart like Yuri has. It’s a feeling I hold onto just as I hold onto the man himself, listening to the train rumble past us in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, smitten Victor; how I adore thee XD Next chapter is back to Yuri, and back to more photography business. Don’t worry, the hurt/past won’t come up until the twelfth and thirteenth chapters hahha I suggest y’all enjoy the fluff while you can! JK. ..ish


	11. Fish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the second half of the story! Do peeps still go picnicking? I do, but like, do others? Eh, whatever hahha now that it’s sunny in AiR, more time will be spent outdoors with the hope of Yuri finding some sort of inspiration to create. I’m indescribably grateful for my unending desire to write this fic; I’ve had writer’s block before, but it hasn’t really been an issue so far. Knock on wood? Sure thing XD Enjoy, yo.

‘There is no way I’m giving you his number.’

Mari’s reply is fast and evidence she ignored my last text: ‘If you give me his number, I can get a hold of you through him in case your phone dies lol JUST LET ME HAVE IT’

I shake my head, not convinced at her reasoning. ‘You just want to grill him and embarrass me. The answer is no.’ She got her hands on the phone number of one of my exes in the past; naturally, she asked all the nosy questions about their intentions and if they’ve ever been a cheater and it was awful. I don’t need her asking Victor embarrassing things that might make him run right out the door.

‘That’s not true!’

‘It’s not? Why don’t I believe you?’ I ask.

‘…idk lol Phichit came by and said you seemed to be in good hands. Maybe I want to see for myself’

In good hands? I scrub my face, frustrated at Phichit and irritated with Mari. Letting him talk to Victor was supposed to be harmless; I didn’t expect him to go and tell my sister about it! I mean, if this was another kind of relationship, I could understand: my best friend and only sibling want to look out for me and make sure my heart will be handled with care. However, this relationship is not one that I would call normal. I mean, we’ll be separated when we have to leave. Does it matter if Victor’s a good guy? I start to type: ‘It doesn’t matter’ but just looking at the words twist my heart more than I want to accept. Deleting the text, I send: ‘You don’t have to worry about that.’ Instead.

‘I don’t?’

I sigh, trying to forget about the future. ‘No, you don’t. I’m responsible and able to take care of myself and would prefer if you stuck to scaring off tenants rather than my friends.’

‘XD wow, you win, kiddo. Just looking out for you lmao’

She’s a liar, but that’s not the important thing: she’s given up on trying to get Victor’s number. ‘You’re terrible, you know that? ;P’ I type out.

“Yuri!”

Victor’s voice interrupts my reply. I’m lagging far behind him and the dogs, so I send the message and pocket my phone. “I’m coming!” I jog to catch up to him, camera thudding against my chest, while he spreads a blanket out on a clear patch of grass. “Sorry, I got distracted.” I help him set up our late lunch, mostly consisting of fresh fruit and blini; I won’t make the mistake of calling them crepes again. “Did you bring enough forks?”

“Yes I did.”

“Thank you.” I glance at where Vicchan and Makkachin are tied; their leashes are looped around separate trees, slack enough to let them wander around. Vicchan stares down a bug perched on a plant while the larger dog rolls around in the grass. At the boarding house, the only other pets are fish and a ferret; Vicchan doesn’t interact with other dogs very often unless we pass one on a walk or at the park. Not that I expected him to fight with Makkachin, but it’s a weight off my shoulders to see them functioning like friends. A part of me knows that it doesn’t make a difference in the long run, but I’d like peace and fewer worries while I’m here. I take a seat across from Victor, accepting the plate of food he’s prepared for me. “For me?”

“Who else?” He laughs, serving himself on a plate that doesn’t match mine. “I’m glad we made so many! It’s definitely picnic weather today.”

“Hard to believe it was raining so much not too long ago.” I sigh when the subtle flavor of the blini gives way to the sweet taste of the jam and cream filling. Naturally, Victor was disappointed when we couldn’t find caviar at the store, but he grinned at the prospect of making a fruity version instead. “Very good.”

“The weather?”

“The food.”

Victor rolls his eyes, smile still intact. “Oh, right. Well, you helped.” He points to me with his fork. “How old is that camera, if I may ask?”

My fingers instinctively reach for it, skimming the edge. “I’ve had it since I was eighteen. A gift from my sister.” Mari was tired of me using the same old camera that would never stay charged and shut off every time I switched modes. “I should probably get a newer one, I know.”

“No, I was thinking it looked quite new.”

“You’re kidding.”

He laughs, covering his mouth. “Not at all. You take really good care of your things.” Victor sips from his bottle of water before sending me a flushed smile. “I admire that. Even when I try to be careful, I can’t help but be a little clumsy from time to time. Well, I guess you know by now.” So far, I’ve had to help this man clean several spills in the kitchen and living room, find his phone or reading glasses on multiple occasions, pick up pieces of a broken dish and adhere bandages to numerous paper and razor cuts. You wouldn’t know it from spending a few minutes with Victor, but living with him for weeks has shown me that this statement of his is true. I don’t laugh enough to tease him, but I do laugh a bit with a nod.

“I’ve noticed, yes.”

“To phrase it lightly, I’m sure.” Victor smirks. “Do you want a new camera?”

I haven’t given this much thought recently; I wasn’t taking enough pictures to justify buying a new camera, even though it’s getting up there in years. “I think it’s more that I should more than anything.” A group of birds passes overhead, taking my attention to the sky. It must be nice to always have a destination, even if it is a set flight pattern. “There are more techy ones out there now. I don’t really want one, but it makes sense to upgrade.”

“Hm. Did you have a place you wanted to shoot today?”

The truth is that I’ve put a great deal of consideration into what I wanted to photograph today. I think people really enjoy looking at pictures of nature, and things they don’t normally get to see every day; well, the river is just around the corner with a pretty decent background included. I’m sure I can capture some good images in the upcoming hours. When we finish eating, Victor tells me to set up wherever I want. “What’ll you be doing?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Putting things away. I’ll only be a moment.”

On my own, I make my way down the path to the river bank. The sun glitters in the current on the opposite side; the water closest to me shines like a mirror. It might be warm enough to swim in, but I’m not going to find out, even if the fraying rope swing is still hanging from a branch. Will it look morbid if I take a picture of it? I don’t want my collection to give off a disturbing vibe, so I ignore the scene and turn back to the river. If only the train tracks were closer, the sloping bank across the water would look more picturesque. Oh well: I take a few shots anyway, zooming in on the tracks as best as I can. It’ll be a while before the sun sets; that would’ve been nice. A fallen branch splits the river’s current near the middle, creating a subtle V-shape on the surface. I find myself smiling at the shape and take pictures of it, too. “That looks decent.” I mutter at the small display of my camera. Familiar humming floats to my ears, preceding Victor’s appearance. Vicchan is tucked under one of his arms, Makkachin happily trotting at his side while he hums a tune only he knows. “Is she going to jump in?”

“Maybe. She can swim, and she won’t go too far.” Victor pulls lengths of stems from the many weeds and plants nearby and sits with Vicchan. “I can keep her out of the way should the need arise.”

“She’s fine.” My eyes wander over to the closest tree: its texture reminds me of a sponge devoid of moisture. Shouldn’t the river be keeping the bark healthy? Maybe it is healthy and I don’t even know it; I’m no expert on trees or plants, so I simply take pictures of it. Victor’s humming accompanies my photography as I shift from this tree to that, the tall weeds, nearby brush, the space where the river meets the bank. Nothing is particularly interesting to look at, but at this point, I don’t mind the lack of inspiration as much as I used to. Picking up a camera meant being weighed down by shame and despair; it never failed to fill me with preemptive regret with the knowledge that I couldn’t become what I wanted, that I could reach for the stars and always fall short, right on my face. I cannot predict the future: my success as a photographer is an unknown. Do I know that people will buy my personal prints to hang in their homes, or that a company will reach out to me to supply them with annual themed art for calendars and the like? I can’t know any of that, but I do know that I still find joy in taking pictures; it just wasn’t easy to discover. While pointing the camera at the water, I see a string of knotted weeds flop onto its surface. That wasn’t there a second ago. I lower the camera with a frown and follow the plant rope: it reaches out to the shore, up the slight slope, behind me and to the end of a stick in Victor’s hand.

I think I must look confused, or something, because Victor laughs. “Oh, hello. Taking a break?”

“What’re you doing?” I step closer to him, no longer frowning. He smiles with a little shrug.

“Fishing.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” I chuckle. Victor knows words like vacillate and propitious, can differentiate between five notes of a viola versus a violin and speaks at least four languages more than enough to get by: there isn’t a chance he thinks he’s actually fishing with a stick and knotted plant stems, right? I step towards him as he smirks.

“Of course not. I like the feeling of casting out and waiting for a bite.” Victor pulls the line back in before throwing it back out again. “I learned how to fish when I was really little. It was fun at first, until I got too busy with work to sit out on the dock with a pole.” When he talks about his past, the warmth surrounding him fades. Only a bit of discomfort goes along with being around him like that, but it mostly draws me in to uncover more; I want to know all about him and what drives him to lift a camera, so I listen to him speak without interrupting with prying questions. His eyes sparkle when he turns to me. “My favorite part was imagining what was swimming under the surface, where I couldn’t see. I was constantly around the same boring fish with silver scales all day, so I thought that deeper down, far underwater, colorful and brighter fish lived their lives away from our nets.” His expression is so serene, washed with a wonderful blush over his cheeks and nose, eyes shining with delight. A laugh pushes Victor from intriguing to irresistible. I’m itching to lift the camera to get a chance at capturing that light he exudes, but I haven’t asked him permission and I don’t dare intervene in his storytelling. “The more I thought of these imaginary fish, the longer I’d sit on the dock with my line in the water.” Victor casts out again, shaking his head once. “I loved it. Inevitably, I learned there was nothing better in that water than what I’d already seen. It didn’t stop me, though. It was too enjoyable to give up, even if I knew I’d never get the results I once dreamed of.” He turns back to me, taking my silence as a response, and looks away with a growing smile. I briefly shut my eyes, needing to commit that smile to memory. Something brushes by my leg. When I look around, I find Makkachin bolting for the water. “Makka!” Victor scolds her when she hits the liquid, handing Vicchan over to me and abandoning the makeshift fishing pole to the ground. “Didn’t I say to stay up there unless Yuri wanted to take your picture?” He sets his hands on his hips, making his way down to the splashing poodle. Makkachin shrinks slightly under his stare, ears lowered just so. Victor sighs, crouching on the bank. With her tail and head slightly down, she steps through the still water closer to Victor. He dips his fingers in the water, swirling little patterns and loops in front of him. “I’m not mad, but you can’t pick and choose when you listen, girl.” Victor stands and motions for his dog to walk to him. “Come on, Makkachin. We need to clean you up a bit.”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the two were actually speaking the same language. Makkachin has a surprising respect for Victor, considering he spoils her rotten, and takes his commands quite seriously. I wasn’t aware that he had such high expectations for her, either; the disappointment on his face is a reflection of that. “Sit. Stay.” I instruct Vicchan after setting him down by my side. When Makkachin looks up at Victor’s motioning hand, I take a picture, then another. She perks up when she discovers that Victor is willing to scratch behind her ears, and I photograph that, too. In fact, the pictures don’t stop until the two are making their way back to us and I realize I may have gotten carried away. I hope Victor doesn’t think I was photographing him without his permission. “It’s only your hands and shoes in the shots.”

Victor smiles, cocking his head to one side. “What?”

I lift my camera. “In the pictures I just took. I didn’t get you, exactly; just your hands and…and your shoes.” His unending smile makes me blush; I have to break eye contact, staring down at my camera, to prevent my brain from short-circuiting. When I look back up, Victor has taken a step or two towards me. I blink, curious what’s going through his thoughts. “Victor?”

“Was that intentional to exclude me from the frames?”

“Well, yeah.” I shrug. “I never asked you if I could take your picture. It’d be rude without permission.”

His eyes suddenly darken, smirk remaining. “You may have my permission, Yuri. You need only ask.”

“Uhh…” Yes, I can foresee myself crashing and burning; Victor has that effect on me. I won’t let his bedroom eyes take over the conversation. Well, not this minute, anyway. “Is that something you’d like to do?”

“You’re the artist in question, darling.” Victor shrugs. “Whatever will help you reach your goals.”

Photograph Victor? That’s not something I could do with shaking hands and cold fingers: certainties if I went through with an attempt to shoot him in any setting. Victor starts the walk back to the guesthouse after Makkachin. “I don’t know if that’d be such a good idea.” I mumble after him, dragging my feet.

“Oh? Well, do continue.”

How do I tell him that I’m afraid of making him look terrible? I don’t want to make a mistake with his image; if anyone found out he was helping me, that would be nothing but embarrassment on his part. Tarnishing his reputation isn’t something I’m prepared to do. I sigh when I catch up with Victor. “I don’t want to make you look bad.” He makes a sound of dismissal, waving his hand my direction. “No, really.” I nudge him with my elbow. “I don’t want to make you look bad.”

“Yuri, you know my good angles and you have an excellent grasp of lighting. I don’t think—”

“No, not like that!” I laugh, but Victor is aghast, eyes wide and mouth turned down. “I mean I don’t want to underperform and make you look bad as a mentor.” This concept seems to only confuse him more. “I mean, it’s not like you could look bad in a picture, even if I took it.”

“Hey.” Victor grips my shoulder with a sternness over his face. “Don’t minimize your art.”

“Sorry.”

One corner of his lips curls up, one eyebrow arched. “Or yourself.”

Before I can apologize, I bite my lip; there’s no need for me to feel remorseful over misspoken words. “Okay.” My nod earns a smile from Victor.

“Positivity can go quite a long way, don’t you think?”

In school, I was taught how to manipulate numbers with symbols just to rely on calculators; I learned how to find facts and strange words in reference books, yet use the internet to find those same bits of information; I memorized dates and names and historic events that are all gathering dust, if they haven’t been thrown out, at the back of my mind. After all the things I’ve learned how to do, nobody has ever taught me that being good to myself is the most practical skill to master. I find myself smiling, pulling Vicchan against me. “Yeah.” I nod to Victor. “You’re right.”

The moment the guesthouse comes into view, Makkachin bolts for the yard and promptly rolls around in the grass. I think it’s funny, but Victor sighs and glares from afar. I pat his shoulder and remind him that I have a few emails to look over. I head to the bedroom and sit up on the bed against the wall, the cool surface relaxing my shoulders. Vicchan hops off the mattress and wanders around the floor; he may leave at some point since I left the door open but I can’t entertain him this moment. My phone is filled with notifications, most of which are my sister picking on me again, but some are regarding the boarding house. A small family will be leaving soon. The news makes me frown, first with sadness, then confusion: they’ve been with us for ten years, so why move out now? Further in the email, I discover that a job opportunity is what’s taking them out of the city. That’s good for them; they deserve to be on better financial ground. I imagine my mother will miss them the most. She gets the most attached to tenants out of all of us, but that must be how we end up with so many holiday cards every year. More emails mention repairs and payment updates, topics that don’t hold my interest for more than a few fleeting seconds. Work is terribly boring when there’s something more fulfilling on the mind.

Tossing my phone aside, I pull my knees closer to my chest and set my camera against my thighs. My first photos are noticeably shakier than the later ones; the images are out of focus and look rushed. On instinct, I start to cringe, but find myself taking a deep breath instead. No, these aren’t pretty and I don’t enjoy looking at them, but they exist; at least I’m trying. I’m trying hard, in fact, and that’s much more than I can say about the past years of my life. The pictures only improve as I scroll through them, a clear and creative point of focus in each one. Did the sun move that much, or did I simply become aware of its location? I don’t remember thinking about it too much; perhaps it was subconscious.

Makkachin’s pictures are next and…they don’t look like mine. I mean, obviously they are, but they look vastly different than the others and from anything I’ve ever photographed. If the poodle could leap off the screen, I don’t doubt that she would; Makkachin looks tangible and just as lively as she does in person. Her eyes are lit up with excitement in each frame, tongue often hanging out in a mock smile. The energy the photos exude are unusual to me. It’s an image on a screen, and yet I can feel Makkachin’s enthusiasm and love as if she’s sitting beside me with her tail wagging wildly, kisses at the ready. “Am I getting better?” My voice comes out a whisper. I thought I’d never improve; I assumed my photography skills would stagnate and anchor my career in place. Looking at the last group of pictures, though, pulls an odd laugh from low in my belly. “I’m getting better!” The urge to sprint outside and find more to photograph is screeches to a halt when the door swings open to let Victor in the room. I point at the camera, holding the screen so he can see my progress. “Look at these, Victor!” He’s wearing only a towel, another being used to dry his hair. Vanilla, musk, soap, skin; he smells amazing. As Victor leans in to look at my work, I lean over and inhale his scent.

“Yuri?” Victor laughs. I feel my face redden, but I don’t sit back; I rest my chin on his shoulder and set my camera aside, nuzzling his neck before kissing it up and down. 

“You smell delicious.”

“I got muddy cleaning Makka, so I had to shower.”

He may say more, but I’m too busy tasting his shoulder. “Did you see the pictures?”

“I told you you’d improve! You’re a fast learner, and with so much talent…” Victor’s voice is cut off by his own gasp. I can’t blame him; I did just nibble at his neck without warning. “If you continue like that, I may not be able to control myself.” His bedroom voice is heavily accented and low; I don’t have a chance of resisting any longer. I pull at the towel, guiding him towards me. Victor crawls further on the bed, hands digging into my hips. “Tell me what you want, Yuri.”

He expects me to be able to form sentences at a time like this? To make matters worse, he occupies my mouth with his own, making himself comfortable on my lap. I rest my hands on the backs of his thighs and drag him even closer. Victor’s fingers dip below my jeans; it’s my turn to gasp. “Victor.” I mumble.

“You trust me, don’t you?” He whispers, nipping at my ear while his hands tease me under both my pants and my shirt. For whatever reason, he has no qualms about touching me in the places that I wish looked different; why shouldn’t I trust him? I can’t think about what he’s saying too thoroughly, though; I’m struggling to not tear off the towel from Victor’s body and let him do the same with my clothes. “I’ll take care of you, Yuri. Just tell me you want me.” He must know that I do. I’d be surprised if there was a person who didn’t want someone as gorgeous as Victor. Paired with that heart of his, who could resist? His next word halts my breathing, the soft whisper against my ear sending a shiver down my spine: “Please.”

An overwhelmingly large part of me hopes he’s never been so desperate for someone before, but all of me can’t handle more teasing from Victor. I nod, helping him with my belt. “Yes.” Victor blinks, eyes locked with mine. “I trust you, I want you.” I forget what else I’m going to say; he shoves his lips on mine, greedy and starving, at the same time we undress each other. He hesitates to lift my shirt up, looking for a sign that I’m alright with it. I nod, needing to feel his skin on mine more than I need to stay hidden away from Victor. “Go ahead.”

“You really do trust me.” Victor smirks, pushing my shirt up and throwing it across the room. “How lucky am I?”

Lucky; Victor thinks he’s the lucky one. I’m the one whose idol showed up on the doorstep, needing a place to stay. I’m the one who still has that same person to keep me company because he wanted to stick around. I’m the one gets to spend time with him, share a bed with him, talk about everything and nothing with and receive career and art advice from him. I’m the one who gets to hold his perfectly molded body against my own flawed one. I’m the one who gets to lose himself in eyes the color of the sea. I’m the one who gets to feel my name moaned against my own mouth, who gets a symphony of borderline whining cries of desperation and pleasure near my ear. I’m the one he’s bringing to the edge of sanity with each movement of his hips. I’m the one who sees him unravel in my lap with shaking legs and fingers clawing at my back. I’m the one who gets to feel his heart racing, pressed to my chest, when his eyelids get too heavy and his limbs weaken. I’m the one here with Victor, yet he feels he’s the lucky one. He collapses next to me, chest rising and falling heavily. I roll on my side and drape an arm over him, but Victor moves closer and holds me instead. My breathing hasn’t slowed down yet, but I want to make sure I didn’t get too carried away. “You okay?” Victor doesn’t even use words to respond: he hums a question mark, eyes still shut. “I mean…I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

He places a lazy kiss to my forehead. “Of course not. Yuri was perfect with me.” I scoff, but don’t argue; I’m not in the mood for words. “Worth the wait.” He sighs after a moment of lying there. It must be getting close to dinnertime. I never answered my emails, either; I was too distracted by my progress and then Victor walked in. I start to sit up, prepared to get back to work, but a hand grips my shoulder and pulls me back to the bed. He makes a sound of protest, pouting a bit.

“Victor, it’s late. There’s still work I need to do.”

“Not now.”

“Aren’t you hungry, though? We have to get up.”

Victor chuckles, fatigue and hoarseness evident in his voice. “Darling, I don’t think I could stand, even if I wanted to.” He pulls the blankets over us. A sleepy exhale sounds like home to me, his arms keeping me close. “We can get back to whatever you want, but not yet. Can we stay like this for a while first?” Victor sounds like he already has one foot in the unconscious. I kiss his collarbone, settling in his arms.

“Okay.” I agree. Victor hums in appreciation, shortly drifting off to sleep with a little smile. Maybe he does feel lucky to know me. I grin to myself and let my eyes shut, hoping to find the same cloud where Victor’s dreams have taken him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is non-explicit, in case y’all forgot. I was watching the GPF while writing this; anyone else watch? Beauty. If anyone has any tag suggestions now that the story has progressed, feel free to HMU here, there, everywhere; it’s all good. Thanks for reading, and sticking with me this far! All the love, and see you next week (unless you comment, in which case, I’ll see you Thursday) :D


	12. Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really bad at tagging. If anyone has suggestions now that the story has progressed on how I should tag it, feel free to let me know here, there, wherever! All I’m going to say is that with every high, there’s usually a low. It’s not going to last forever, and it’s a very important part of the story; actually something some of you have been waiting for…

Since the sun has decided to chase all the rain away, I’ve been taking the dogs out for photoshoots. Most of the time, they find adorable things to do on their own: Makkachin will chase Vicchan, Vicchan will find something to sniff at, Makkachin will roll around like a goofball. Often, the pair will play an unidentifiable game with rules that shift without notice. Being a larger dog, Makkachin needs more room to run around and requires more physical activity to keep her in good shape. Victor mentioned that he takes her to the park every other day and walks her every day because their apartment is too small for her to get enough exercise. Vicchan, however, is perfectly healthy with daily walks and roaming around the courtyard. Makkachin tries to get the smaller poodle to continue playing, but Vicchan refuses when he’s had enough. This goading is quite a sight: Vicchan will sit or lay in one spot, content to watch nature unfold in front of him. Makkachin will slowly creep towards Vicchan, head low, and stand in his line of sight. She does this comical pose with her tail in the air and her front paws planted in the grass, head tilted at what looks to be an uncomfortable angle. If Vicchan’s up for more playing, he’ll stretch before indulging her in more games. If he’s tired or bored, he’ll stamp one paw on the ground and look away. Sometimes, Makkachin won’t take no for an answer and she’ll shake her tail with more fervor and may even bark. At this point, Vicchan will either give in or actively ignore her. It makes me laugh every time, and I try to get as many pictures of the event as possible when they do this little dance. Right now, it looks like Vicchan is ignoring Makkachin; I find a stick and throw it for her so she doesn’t feel left out. Again, I take plenty of shots: Makka in motion is living art. Seldom of Victor’s personal work includes her; I think I’ll ask about that. To me, she’s very inspiring since she seems so unaware of the camera. Vicchan always knows when I’m taking pictures, so he gets distracted and stops acting candid. Photographing Makkachin makes me wonder why Victor chooses not to take shots of her. It could be that he doesn’t want to share too much of his personal life with the world, or doesn’t want strangers to hang up photos of his pet. Vicchan sits down at my side while his poodle pal chases the stick I threw. “Hi, Vicchan. You seem tired.” Naturally, my dog doesn’t respond. “We’ll go back inside in a minute. I know how much you like that spot on the sofa.” I laugh. The lighting is beginning to change; some clouds are collecting in the distance. I frown. “Not again.” Those clouds better not bring any rain with them; I’m over that weather and it isn’t conducive to outdoor photography. After tossing the stick and letting Makkachin sniff around on her own, more clouds begin traveling our way. On a sigh, I stand from the grass, dusting myself off. “Okay, looks like we’re going back in.”

There’s nothing stopping me from having an indoor photoshoot with the dogs, but it’s not the same. The two are on their best behavior and can’t do much in such small space; maybe I’ll play with lighting and contrast, or something. Maybe I’ll find something else to shoot. I’m not wild about photographing food, but if I have to, I will; I need to get as much practice in as possible while Victor’s here. When I open the door, both dogs make a run for the kitchen where their water bowls are. A melodic laugh reaches my ears, even before I near the doorway. Victor’s watching the dogs fight over the only filled bowl of water, the other bowl overturned in a puddle. “Messy beasts!” He tosses a towel over the mess and refills the bowl for Vicchan. “You’re lucky you’re both so cute.” I haven’t asked him for his permission to photograph him; it’s the only thing stopping me from lifting my camera up his direction. When Victor turns to get back to his task on the stove, his eyes brighten. “Oh, hi! Have you been standing there long?” Victor asks with a wave. I place my camera on the counter, leaning against it.

“No, not too long.” I shrug. It isn’t clear what Victor’s making in that pot; it looks like something liquid but it has a distinctly savory scent, as if it’s more than just a broth. “What’s this?”

His eyes follow where my finger is pointing. “It’s going to be soup.”

“What’s in it?”

“Nothing yet.” Victor laughs, uncovering a pan at the back of the stove. “I still have to add these vegetables to it.” Ah, no wonder I smelled more ingredients; they were hidden. I smile, surprised at how comfortable Victor seems in the kitchen. He often cooks small meals that sit heavier in the stomach than expected, but I have no reason to complain. “I used to make this all the time when I was younger. Inexpensive, low maintenance, filling.”

There’s that misty look in Victor’s eyes again. It makes my stomach sink a bit to see any pain in those eyes. I reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be great.” The smile I receive sends my heart racing. Victor in a good mood is the best Victor to seek advice from. “Do you want to see my pictures?”

He adds the vegetables to the pot and balances an ill-fitting lid over it, nodding. “I’d love to.”

On the sofa, Victor sits with one arm around me and scrolls through the images on my camera with the other. I’m not sure what to do; reading his thoughts would be the best thing so I could know if he likes them or not, but that’s not going to happen. It’d be too clingy to lean over and look with him, wouldn’t it? I don’t want to be overbearing and Victor doesn’t need me creeping over his shoulder. I already know what the pictures look like, so I don’t really need to see them again. Busying myself with my phone might seem rude or like I’m uninterested in my own career; that would be the worst message to send Victor. I pick at the nailbed of my thumb, keeping my eyes and ears open so I don’t miss any reactions from him. Victor doesn’t comment on my work, though: he pulls me in closer so he can pepper kisses at my hairline. Laughter bubbles out of me while the rest of me tries to push him back to the task at hand. “Victor, my pictures!” I remind him, trying to add a stern tone to my voice. “Tell me what you think of them.”

“I can look over your work and kiss you at the same time. I know how to multitask.”

“You’re the worst at multitasking.” I shake my head and tug the camera back to Victor’s line of sight. “I had a lot of fun out there, and I want to know what you think.”

Victor’s eyes return to the screen, smile small. “That’s good to hear you enjoyed yourself.” He scans the pictures, nodding to himself. “You really adore Makka, don’t you? She looks so young, like when she was a puppy.” He turns to me, smile growing. “I love these last few. You really know how to fill a frame.” A moment later, he points to the screen. “You have quite a knack for capturing such substantial emotions, even in animals. It makes me wonder what you want to do for your actual career.”

Um, what? I blink, baffled at Victor’s words. What does he mean by that? “W-what do you mean my actual career?” I sit up straighter to get better eye contact. He squeezes my shoulder.

“Yuri, I only meant your main job. Taking personal pictures and selling them won’t be enough for a living, or a career. You’ll need a real way to make a living.” If he thinks that’s somehow explaining away his words, he’s undeniably wrong. With a frown, I take my camera from him without being polite, waving it near his face, letting his hand fall from my back.

“This is what I’m going to do with my life. I mean, yeah, I’m still going to work at the boarding house, but this is my dream.”

Victor turns to face me, hands on my knees. “I didn’t mean you can’t take pictures.” He gestures at himself, fingers to his chest. “I’m employed by the gallery I live by. I photograph the exhibits and the artists, including my own work. My own prints aren’t always enough to maintain my income, though. You have to be realistic.”

“I don’t understand.” I suddenly don’t want him to look at my pictures anymore, so I turn the camera off and leave it on the table. “I thought you believed in my art.”

“Yuri, listen.”

“I don’t think I want to.” I know I’m starting to scowl, and I know he probably has smart things to say and advice to offer, but the unsettled feeling inside is fighting at my self-control. “You’re supposed to be helping me get better, not telling me to have a backup plan. I’ve been living my backup plan, and I thought you wanted to change that.”

Victor reaches for my hand, but I pull away. “I never said I don’t believe in you.”

“Do you even care?”

“Please don’t talk like that.” Victor frowns. “We already talked about this: you need to want this for yourself. I can’t be the one to push you to do better.”

I stand from the sofa so I don’t need to sit beside him. “Then tell me what to do! Tell me how I can improve so I can show you that I can do this, and I can make it as a professional photographer.” My voice sounds odd, and abrasive. I hate it, but not as much as I hate feeling like such a failure.

“I know you can do it. That was never in question.” Victor stands, too. “I only want what’s best for you, and having two photography jobs will—”

“Who’s going to employ me at the level I’m at?” I scrub my face.

“Get out of your comfort zone, then!” His frown looks so out of place, it’d be comical under different circumstances. “Take pictures of new things, things that make you uncomfortable and things that you think only you’d find interesting.” When Victor’s emotions run high, his accent thickens and his gestures become wild. “I’ve told you before that I want to see the world through your eyes, and I meant it. I love your pictures of our dogs, and I love seeing your shots of the river and the rope swing, but Yuri, you can’t make a career out of taking pictures of things everyone sees. I know you have your own style, but you’re so far in your head that you won’t gamble on pushing yourself beyond what you know you can do.” I blink before my eyes fall to the floor. “Of course I believe in you, but why the hell don’t you? Don’t you see your talent, your drive and your passion for this? Why can’t you let yourself be more than someone who takes commercial shots?” I’ve never heard him raise his voice before. Well, once when he spilled hot water on the floor, but never at me. When I look up, he looks tired: hair disheveled, creases in his forehead, shoulders tense. I don’t have an answer for him. I don’t have any words to explain my fears, so I turn and start to walk away. “Yuri.” Victor’s tone is still frustrated, borderline angry. I motion for him to follow me but don’t stop or slow down for him, feet taking me out of the living room, then the guesthouse. “Yuri!” There’s the anger, seeping into his voice when he calls after me. I trudge forward, avoiding his hands that try to grab at me. “Yuri.” A slightly calmer tone. “Yuri?” Victor sounds more like himself, but that doesn’t stop me. In the main house, I head straight for the bookshelf that houses the tattered old letter I meant to burn ages ago. The letter falls from the cover of a book into my hand, creasing in my grip.

“I’ve tried for years to get over being afraid of trying again, and starting over. It’s not easy to always be told I’m not good enough. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do it.” I shove the envelope Victor’s direction. I don’t need to read it again; I know what it says:

‘Dear YURI KATSUKI,

All of us here at Aspiring Art Youth Academy would like to thank you for submitting your application form and including examples of your work for consideration into our Aspiring Artist Youth Summer Camp. We believe that every young artist has the potential to become something extraordinary through practice, perseverance and passion and commend you on taking that first step into your future.

The PHOTOGRAPHY program of Aspiring Artist Youth Summer Camp looked over your application carefully and with the utmost consideration. It has been ultimately decided that at this time, your acceptance into the program has been declined. Enclosed, you will find notes on how the board came to this decision. We encourage you to take these notes into consideration in order to improve your art and apply again in the future. It is not necessary to attend Aspiring Artist Youth Summer Camp in order to apply and/or be accepted into Aspiring Art Youth Academy, though we hope to hear from you again.

Best of luck,

Aspiring Art Youth Academy

Extended Notes:  
Yuri, it’s great to have a dream and desire to pursue an artistic career, but it isn’t for everybody. We went through your photos and we felt that there was definitely something lacking in them. You have a solid grasp of some concepts, but the subjects of your photography weren’t the best decision on your part. The people may mean something to you, but they either needed direction or you needed to change your technique; the images are technically decent but offer little interest to the eye and left us wondering if you truly belong in the art world or not. We’re not sure if you were nervous taking the pictures, are new to photography, aren’t taking this seriously or couldn’t find something worthwhile to photograph, but we recommend you take the time to find what you really love and pursue that. You may actually be a better artist in a field other than photography and suggest you try to find that out on your own. If you decide that you still want to be some kind of artist, make sure it’s what you really want and then you can reapply at a later date. To summarize, this camp/academy only accepts the very best and brightest, and those we feel have a certain future in the arts; right now, you aren’t quite there and we had to deny you admittance. We wish you well and hope to see you in the future.’

Victor looks up from the letter, seething. “What is this and why do you still have it?” The paper wrinkles in his shaking fingers, trembling in his grasp. A lump forms in my throat; I can’t speak, shaking my head instead. There’s no fighting the anger and sadness taking over: my head drops, eyes shutting to prevent the tears from spilling out. I’ve only had one dream, and it’s always just out of reach. It’s been engrained in me since I was a kid: I’ll be chasing this lost cause as long as it’s something I want. It’s aggravating and miserable and I thought Victor would be able to help me out of the endless cycle. “Yuri!”

“My rejection letter.” My voice is hardly above a whisper. I don’t even bother looking up at Victor; I don’t want to see if he pities me, or whatever. “It was during the summer, when I’d be here. I waited for it, checking the mailbox every morning until the cutoff date came and went, and then it finally came. I cried all summer.” I wish I could avoid this truth, but that won’t make it any less true. “None of my art teachers thought I had enough talent to be a photographer. I was a fool to think I could do this.” Why do I keep getting set back this way? Every time I try to work toward my goal, something shoves me right back on my ass. I’m sick of it! I turn on my heel, making my way back to the front door.

“Don’t—”

“I need to go.” I don’t look back, either. I keep walking until I’m back in the bedroom of the guesthouse, shutting the door behind me. Maybe I slammed it; I’m not worried about it, though. I press my back to the bed and cover my face with an arm, careful to inhale deeply, exhale slowly. Despite that I’m not sobbing, tears continue rolling down my cheeks. I feel so stuck: I’m not growing or learning anything, and I’m in the same place I started before I met Victor. If he can’t help me, maybe all my critics were right all along. Victor doesn’t get it. He has an abundance of natural talent and charm that, no doubt, have helped him get to where he is; there’s no way he’d understand the struggle of being told no from day one. Vicchan isn’t in the room, which is a pity; I could use a cuddle. “This sucks.” I sigh to myself. I almost wish Victor hadn’t shown up. Maybe then this stupid fantasy of being a real artist would’ve stayed locked in the recesses of my mind. Sitting up, I realize I don’t want to be left alone with my thoughts. None of them are helping calm me down. Then again, I don’t want to talk to Victor yet, and he’s the only one here. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, tossing my glasses aside, and reach for my phone. Phichit may not be here physically, but he’s only a call away. “Hey, are you busy?” I flop back down and shut my eyes again.

“I’m just eating dinner. You sound tired. Are you okay?” Phichit asks. Noise in the background is a giveaway that he’s not at his apartment.

“No, not really.”

Phichit doesn’t respond immediately. I rub my eyes, sighing, before he says anything. “Okay, I won’t force you to talk about what happened, but I’m here if you decide to.” It’s my turn to stay quiet. “I saw Mari the other day, and she actually admitted that she misses you.” He laughs softly. “The boarding house is completely different when you’re not there. She tries to take your place, but she’s not as good with numbers as you are.” I can’t express how simple it is to tackle messy topics when I don’t feel pressured to do so; Phichit knows this and I’m grateful he does.

“I’m the one who went to school for it.” I sigh, preparing to dive into the unfamiliar waters. “I’m not sure why I’m so upset. I don’t think I’m mad at Victor, but I feel so trapped in my own brain and he’s not helping.” I thought this would be easier to sort out with Phichit, but too many emotions are battling in my head.

“It might be easier to just tell me what happened.”

Where do I start? “Um, okay. I took some pictures and felt pretty good about them. When I showed them to Victor, he mentioned something about me needing a real career aside from selling prints.” I don’t even remember why he said that. “Am I not good enough to be an artist, and can’t even support myself with photography?” The annoyed anger is coming back to me now. “It bothered me that he wasn’t being supportive when he’s supposed to be helping.”

“Understandable.”

“We started arguing, and he asked me why I can’t get out of my comfort zone, or something.” His words were close to those. I don’t remember verbatim, but it was similar. “Oh, he asked why I can’t let myself be more than someone who takes conventional shots.”

“He asked that?”

“Yeah! And I…I showed him the letter.” I slur the last few words, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by Phichit. I can practically hear him pulling a needle off a record.

“You did what?” He gasps.

Not many people know about what happened all those years ago. Naturally, Phichit is one of them. He’s never mentioned it or brought it up during our days in the art studios, and he never made me talk about it in detail. I sigh and roll over to my side. “I showed him the letter, and he got…well, I think he got mad. I didn’t really, uh, stay to hear him.” Now that I think about it, I don’t know why Victor was angry; had I stayed, I may have learned why. “Seeing the letter again…it just…well, I couldn’t—”

“You needed a minute to walk away.” Phichit exhales. “I mean, I get it. Sometimes you need a moment to process what you’re feeling.”

“Yeah.” Even though it isn’t cold, I curl my knees up and pull my old quilt over my body. “I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling like I can never make it. What do I have to do to prove that I can do this? It’s exhausting to keep chasing the carrot on the string, and I’m fucking sick of it!” I cover my head with the blanket, groaning. “Victor’s supposed to be helping me, and instead he’s repeating all the same things everyone said when they told me to wake up and dream of something else.”

“Is he really, though?”

“Phichit, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

He laughs quietly, no doubt a failed attempt at suppressing it. “You know I’m with you one hundred percent. I’m only asking because I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m pretty sure he really cares about you, but I think he’s as bad as you are with handling emotions on the spot.” I would love to be offended, but I know I’m being called out with reason. “You know I’m going to get another job when I finish my degree? Freelance illustrators need a way to keep the lights on in their apartments, you know, and that doesn’t mean I’m less of an artist.”

“Well, yeah, I knew that.”

“Maybe Victor’s looking out for you. It’s not easy out there, hon, and if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t give you advice about it.”

Alright, I admit I hadn’t thought of it like that before. But how else was I supposed to react? He made it sound like I wasn’t talented enough to make money from my art. “But it…it made me feel like he doesn’t believe in me, or like I can’t do this like he can.”

“You’ve got this. You don’t need anyone to tell you that, okay? Just talk to him, and you’ll see.” Phichit’s voice drops to an almost inaudible whisper. “No, we can get dessert on the way back.”

“Are you with someone?”

Indecipherable muttering precedes Phichit’s response. “Yeah, I told you we’re at dinner.” He doesn’t need to elaborate: all he’s talked about as of late is his boyfriend, the stoic teaching grad student in the math department. I uncover my head, air becoming hard to breath. “You’ll talk to Victor, right?”

“You said you weren’t busy.”

“Yuri, nothing can get in my way of supporting you. You know that.”

A friend like Phichit isn’t easy to find. He’d listen to me for hours more, but I’ve already interrupted his dinner, so I end the call a few minutes later. My face is still wet with tears and my muscles are fatigued. Crying does that to me. It’s like running an emotional marathon. Thoughts keep passing through, and some stick more than others: nobody believes in me, Victor can’t help me, I’m not good enough, I’ll never reach my goals. It’s such a complete mess in my mind that my body betrays me and edges towards drowsiness until I drift off. I’m not sure how long I sleep before the creak of the door wakes me. The effort it’d take to sit up is beyond my capabilities; I don’t even move, not even when the bed dips down under added weight. Unsteady fingers brush stray hair out of my face. “Yuri?” Victor’s voice sounds a little shaky, a little tentative. I shift so I can see him, remaining silent. His eyes are stained red around the edges, slightly bloodshot; his nose is also red, like he’s been standing out in a young snowstorm. “Please say something.”

“Hi.”

He doesn’t smile, but some of the hurt in his eyes fades away. “Did I hurt you?”

That’s a good question. I sigh before shaking my head. “No, it wasn’t you.” Victor wraps his arms around me, waiting for more information. “What you said, it…it kind of triggered me, I guess. I’ve been put down by people before, and I think…I think it was upsetting that you’d do the same.”

“Yuri, no.” Victor places a hand on my cheek, thumb swiping at the old tracks my tears left behind. “I wouldn’t do that, not to you. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I doubt you, or like I was saying you’re not good enough.” He blinks those deep eyes of his, eyebrows knitting together. “You do trust me, don’t you?” I nod, taking his hand in mine. “I’m sorry you had to go through that rejection, and I wish you’d never gotten that letter. It wasn’t even constructive.”

“You really mean that?”

“That letter should never have been given to anybody, least of all, someone with as much devotion and talent as you.” Victor finally lies down beside me, crawling under the quilt with the hint of a smile. “It’s so difficult to watch you doubt yourself when I know you’re able to do so much more than you think you can. I wish you could see what I see.” About a million words I want to say flood my brain, but my mouth doesn’t know what to do with them. My arms snake around his body, pulling him on top of me in a snug embrace.

Victor’s laugh rumbles against me. “I was worried you were upset with me, but I can see that’s not the case.”

My real beef isn’t with Victor; he hasn’t stepped over any lines but simply tried to help me when I wasn’t ready to hear it. He’s been nothing but good to me as a friend and teacher; I want to show him how much I appreciate him. Victor moves off, putting his weight in his knees on either side of me and traces my lip with his thumb, soft and warm. “Kiss me.”

His mouth starts off as sweet, kissing gently, but quickly becomes urgent. It’s easy to let go and let him drag me into a world of passion.

“You’re amazing, Yuri, in everything you do.” His words are fuel to a fire already burning. I don’t want these kisses to end, or these words of encouragement to stop. His hands make their way under my shirt, but I grip Victor’s wrists before he can go any further. He blinks down at me, frozen in place. “Is something wrong? Do you not want—”

“I do.” Why did I interrupt him so quickly? I lose all reasoning under Victor’s touch. “But…let’s take our time. Don’t rush tonight.”

He seems to understand, gracing me with a smile. “Anything for you.”

Not that we rush things other nights, but I just want to spend time with Victor this way. Clothes are carefully peeled off, touches delicate and lingering, mouths soft and light. Between kisses placed here and there, he whispers reassurances against my skin. He thinks the world of me, of both things I can and can’t control, of what I do and who I am by nature; nobody has ever spoken such words to me, let alone in this context. He responds physically and verbally to my touch while keeping his own hands occupied, almost more than I can handle. When I wrap my legs around his waist, Victor threads our fingers together against the mattress. I won’t get to be held this way forever; it may not happen ever again after Victor leaves, in fact. There are times when I wish I never knew what it felt like to kiss Victor, to touch him, talk to him, laugh with him; it’d be easier to let him walk out of my life had we never shared ourselves and our thoughts with each other. Then there are other times, like right now, when I feel such gratitude to have met him at all, and even more to be held by him. Hips slow, hands clenched, breaths heavy; Victor’s voice increases in volume, only quieted by my own mouth, and even then his moans are loud enough to reach the neighbors several miles down the road. Although we’ve been in this bed for a while, it’s not enough. Victor’s limbs give out, and he falls on top of me with a loud exhale. “Victor?” I pant, squeezing his hands in mine. He grunts in response. “Again?”

The look Victor gives me when he lifts his head off my chest makes me laugh, and laugh loudly: his eyes are open wide, eyebrows pulled down, lips pressed together. “How are you not exhausted after that?”

“I am tired, but I want more.” I buck my hips up to leave no room for interpretation.

Victor laughs, shaking his head. “Okay, but I’ll need a minute or two. Why don’t we have dinner first, or something?”

“But Victor…” After showing him every inch of my heart, the root of my pain and the reasons behind my art, I need more of him. I won’t always get to do this, so I need to take advantage of Victor’s presence. He kisses my chest once, moving to sit up.

“What if I bring dinner in here?”

Honestly, I am hungry but I don’t know how Victor knows that. Maybe it’s the soft growling in my belly. I laugh and allow him to sit up. “Okay, fine, but I’ll hold you to it.”

“I look forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now you know most of what happened. It might not seem like a big deal to some of y’all, but to a child with self-esteem and anxiety issues, that shit can cut DEEP. There’s also a little more to it, but that’ll be explained in the next chapter. The one after will be happier, but again, important stuff needs to happen first!


	13. Swim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Siblings can be great, or they can be a nuisance. Either way, you’re born stuck with them hahha This one’s another Victor chapter. It’s pretty informative, so let’s get to it ~

Anyone with eyes could happen upon this clearing, nestled at the riverbank, and see that I’m falling very deeply for Yuri. They don’t need to even be a seeing person; it’s as clear as a pane of thin glass. The way he moves from one vantage point to another, slow, careful steps, and readies his breath before deciding on a shot; the way he’ll often bump his glasses against his camera, eyes too focused on his subject rather than the object he holds; every little word he mumbles in English and Japanese, hidden under an exhale, as he talks himself through his progress: to witness it all is entrancing, and rather endearing. Yuri takes more pictures now than he did when I first began helping him. The quality of his photos has improved, too, putting bright smiles on his face every time I remind him of his artistic growth. It isn’t only his talent that makes my heart flutter; he wants to be a successful photographer with every fiber of his being. His determination and hard work is admirable, leaving me in awe as I watch him work by the river. There aren’t enough words to describe how incredible Yuri is, and this causes me to struggle with my feelings for him. Yes, it’s lovely to carry such a fondness for another human being around, but we haven’t known each other for a month yet. Am I holding on to these emotions too hastily, letting my heart override my brain too easily? Could it be that my heart knows something my brain has yet to figure out, and I have every reason to feel what I feel for Yuri? Thinking back on my past relationships never brings any memories of butterflies in my stomach or blushes across my face, not even when they were at their best. People don’t fill me with warmth and excitement the way Yuri does, and it’s a miracle that I stumbled upon him in this place. I want to help him achieve his goals, but due to senseless people making him feel insecure about his own desires, he gets in his own way of that. How is it that someone so wonderful could think themselves as anything but? It baffles me, but I’m determined to get through to Yuri. I don’t know how, but there must be some way for him to understand that he’s talented and can do anything he sets his mind to.

The sky above me, seeping through the overlapping branches of the nearby trees, only has a few clouds that take their time passing by. It’s been a delight to not worry about wearing a coat and carrying an umbrella, but the heat today is a little much. Maybe it’s the thickness of my shirt, or the dark color of my jeans; either way, it’s dampening my mood. I sit up, resting my hands on my knees with a sigh. Of course I love the blue canopy overhead, but it’s not calming or inspiring me at the moment. Across the water, the train roars by. Yuri’s camera is pointed right at it, shutter overpowered by the rattling over the tracks. I can practically feel it vibrating the ground below me! Hmm, that actually might be my phone. When I check, I have a text from my newest contact: ‘Don’t even think about hurting him, or you’ll pay the price’ It was yesterday that I found out Yuri’s sister managed to get my number out of him. I don’t mind Mari being in possession of such a thing, especially since it makes her feel better about her brother’s wellbeing. I wasn’t exactly anticipating a message from her so soon, though.

‘Presumably, this is about your brother?’

She’s a fast texter! Not at all like Yuri; he takes his time responding. ‘Ofc this is about Yuri -_- lol I mean it though Nikiforov. If you have any bad plans for him you should leave now so you don’t hurt him more than you need to’ While I’m working out a reply, she says ‘If you actually care about him, that is.’

Mari doesn’t know me, so she can’t know that she’s being offensive. I’ll let it go, but I still find myself frowning. ‘Respectfully, are my feelings for him in question?’

‘Pretty much.’

The last thing I want to do is be rude to her, but I must stand my ground. ‘I can assure you that I’m not intending to waste anyone’s time. I want him to be happy just as you do :) I would never hurt him on purpose’ It’s the honest truth. I won’t lie and tell Mari that I’ll never hurt Yuri because these things happen in life and I fully mean to apologize when it comes up; however, going out of my way to deliberately hurt him will not be a relevant issue.

‘Good. He doesn’t let people in easily, so you better be good and honest with him’

Be honest with him. I certainly haven’t lied to Yuri, but there’s a great deal he doesn’t know about me. My past isn’t suitable for framing and I’d rather not discuss it. Mari says that her brother doesn’t let people get close to him. Why, then, did he tell me about his lost career? Why did he choose to share his bed with me? Why did he talk about his family and friends and his memories with them? Why did he show me that letter? That horrid piece of paper is a closely guarded secret of his, but he presented it to me and allowed me to read it; Yuri wants to be vulnerable with me. What courage to show me his deepest scars, bravery to retell the story of how they came to be! Like his old wounds, mine have shaped me into the man I am now. I finally reply to Mari, fingers starting to tremble. ‘Of course. I couldn’t imagine doing otherwise.’

‘Good’

I used to hum this old nursery rhyme to myself to keep tears at bay, long before I discovered my desire to be a photographer; it’s been ages since this song crossed my mind, but its tune vibrates against my lips to compete against the train’s rumbling. My hands are no longer still, shaking when they should be steady in their relaxed state. Luckily, my breathing hasn’t become ragged yet; it’s most likely because I haven’t allowed my consciousness to rest on specifics. Heaven help me when I give these thoughts a place to stay. “Victor!”

My head snaps up at the sound of my name, spoken rather impatiently. Yuri looks irritated but there’s also concern in his expression. Did I miss something that happened? “Yes?”

Yuri knits his brow, frown deepening. “I was calling your name. Didn’t you hear me?” He asks as he takes a step closer. I feel terrible I didn’t hear him; I’m normally very attentive to Yuri, but thinking about what I need to say to him had me more distracted than I realized. I shake my head no, blinking up at the lovely man before me. He inches closer, crouching next to me. “Victor, are you okay? You look pale.” He takes one of my hands in his, flinching but not letting go. “Your hand’s frozen! Are you feeling alright?” The worry in his voice on my behalf is both a comfort and a burden. My answer comes only after a concentrated sigh.

“There’s something I want to tell you.” Better words could have been chosen; I discover this immediately when Yuri’s shoulders fall and his eyes grow with shock. Perhaps it’s worry, too. Either way, I remedy my initial statement. “I mean that it…it’s about how I got started in the industry. And before that.” My voice trails at the end of the sentence enough that I scan Yuri’s face for any signs of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

Yuri situates himself in a comfortable sitting position at my side, continuing to hold my hand. I focus out at the flowing water only to find my eyes shutting, weary already. “I didn’t just become a photographer overnight. It wasn’t my dream like it’s your dream.” When I open my eyes, a pair of beautiful brown ones is staring back at me. “It was just an escape.”

“But…you wanted to be a photographer, didn’t you? Wasn’t that something you liked?”

The sun is relentlessly fixated on me; this discussion is unpleasant in and of itself, only worsening by the second. It’s a wonder Yuri is still interested in holding my clammy hand in his. “Of course, but after it became a necessity.” I sigh. “I wasn’t born an a very open-minded family. At a very young age, I worked alongside my mother on the docks, cleaning and gutting fish.” I can’t buy fresh fish these days; it brings back too many forgotten feelings. “It wasn’t fun, but it was what I was expected to do. As I got older, I helped drag them in and I was supposed to join my father on the fishing trips later on. The work was tiring, and I stopped going to school so I could work even longer hours. It’s all I ever did.”

“Didn’t you need an education? I mean, you have to go to school.” Yuri frowns.

“My parents didn’t care. We had no money, and work was more important than an education.” I swipe at my hairline, warding off the beads of sweat that threaten to collect there. “I wasn’t allowed to do childish things; I worked with grown men and was expected to behave like one.” It sounds as fun as it was. “I liked to sing for a time, but that was quickly…discouraged.” A slight boil starts to churn the blood in my veins. Why should a child be disallowed from doing something they love, something that causes no harm to anyone, something that lets them feel a bit of warmth in the cold? What kind of father treats his child that way? “Humming was easier to hide. When I found the camera, that was a new problem.”

Poor Yuri: his eyes look so lost, so timid, while he’s at a loss for words. As I’m about to throw him a lifeline, he shakes his head. “I don’t get how it’d be a problem. It’s just a hobby.”

“It was a waste of time, and it would only turn me into an artsy little queer.” I can’t ever forget those acidic words that fell from my father’s lips, sneering with repulsion and eyes alight with resentment. Frankly, it still makes me sick to my stomach to relive the memory; my cheeks and ears are burning, anger rising inside. “So I took pictures of what I could, and hid it all from my parents. It took over a year to get a real one, and I had to hide it, too.”

“I…I had no idea.”

“I didn’t want to tell you.” My scowl isn’t for Yuri, though appearances may say otherwise. “It’s disgusting and horrible, and there’s no need for you to hear about such a pathetic story.”

“It’s not pathetic.”

“Yuri, I had to sneak over to my neighbor’s house to print pictures so I could secretly sell them at the pier.” I wipe my forehead with my arm, sticky with sweat. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t tried to sell a photo to Yakov.”

At first, it’s evident Yuri doesn’t know what to say. I think he wants to argue his point of my life not being pathetic, but decides against it in the end. “It’s a good thing he helped you.”

I shake my head. “It wasn’t that easy. He wanted to help, but I told him that my parents would never let me become a photographer, and he knew them and how they could be. That’s why he said to keep practicing, which I did for another year. I didn’t know English at the time, so Yakov told my parents that he could tutor me outside the country. He made it sound like it’d make me a better worker, so they eventually agreed. It was a hard sell, but they let me go under the guise that I’d be back soon.”

“Have you ever gone back?”

“I’ve gone back to Russia, but not to see them, or go anywhere near them.” The heat is pushing its limit with me. Emotions swirl in my blood, heated and livid from past hurts and betrayals. I scrub my face, groaning quietly so I don’t scream. Pretending my life started after ten is much easier than revisiting reality; I never have to feel angry or sad, never have to get hurt and recall a lack of childhood, never have to accept that my parents didn’t want me. “They never wanted me.” It takes a moment to register that it’s my own voice speaking this truth aloud. I find myself scrambling to my feet, pulling at my shirt to circulate air against my skin to no avail. “It’s too hot.” Ah, the river: it isn’t hot in there. I leave a trail of clothes behind me, sinking into the crisp, clear water with a faint current sweeping by. How glorious it feels to be embraced by cold, washing away the unbearable warmth I’d collected in my fury. Nothing gets my feathers quite as ruffled as the events of my past. After all, there’s a reason I don’t open that door. To wet my hair, I tilt my head back with an exhale and let the water wash over me.

“Victor!” Yuri’s voice sounds small. I turn to the bank where he stands at the edge of. “What’re you doing in there?” He calls out in my direction. I hardly need to fight the current, directing myself towards him.

“I was overheating.”

He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t want you to feel alone. If you needed to talk to someone about that, why didn’t you come to me?”

“Why don’t you come to me?”

Yuri rubs his forehead, probably not thrilled at my response. “Seriously, Victor.”

“It isn’t your burden to bear.”

“But it obviously bothers you.”

“It always will.” I admit. Again, Yuri huffs out an exhale, bending down to untie his shoes. Then he starts to undress. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m coming to you.” He mumbles, carefully folding his clothes in a neat little pile. Then he makes good on his word; Yuri wades through the river until he’s close enough to grab my wrist. I assumed he was trying to pull me out of the water, but to my surprise, he pulls me closer to him and holds me by my arms in something like a hug. “Are you okay?”  
Maybe I needed to be asked that question. My muscles ache and I feel like I could fall asleep for days. “It’s just unfair.”

Yuri inches closer, wrapping his arms around me. I thought that the water would be a relief, but nothing is quite as soothing as Yuri’s touch. “No, it wasn’t fair. You shouldn’t have had to live that way.” Even soaked in river water, his scent is inviting; it reminds me of soft smiles and sleepy hugs. “You’ve become someone that you can be proud of, though, and you’re doing what you love. Anyone who doesn’t support that doesn’t matter.” I don’t think Yuri knows how few friends I have. Real friends, that is; I know many people but it’s a challenge to let others get close to me. Nobody knows this information I’ve told Yuri, and I doubt anybody would react quite like this. “Are you okay?”

This is the second time he’s asked this. The first time, I didn’t respond directly. “You asked me that a moment ago. Why ask again?”

“You didn’t answer.” Yuri’s face turns a cute shade of pink, eyes darting away from me. “And, well, I want you to be okay.” Someone up above truly has a soft spot for me: Yuri is a gift. I nearly tackle him and drown us both, just to get a better hug so he can feel my appreciation for him. “You’re gonna kill us!” Yuri gasps. I can’t stop a laugh from escaping me.

“I’d die the happiest man.” I smile, not holding back. “You’re the most wonderful person I know.”

“That can’t be true.”

I laugh again, letting the current pull me at its lazy will. “It’s absolutely true, darling.” Not all the anger has left me, but it feels remarkably manageable with Yuri on my side. “I’m not really okay, but I’m getting there. I’ll be fine eventually.”

Yuri’s graceful fingers dance against mine, pulling me back towards him with little effort. “Is there anything I can do to help? I feel bad for mentioning my past, now.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Your childhood was so much worse than mine. I feel like I have no room to complain, or anything, in comparison.”

“You don’t need to have it worse than anyone else to have feelings. Pain is pain.” I remind him. His situation may be different from mine, but I think it’s perfectly understandable that both caused us to hurt. Yuri doesn’t look sold on the concept, skepticism written across his face. I squeeze his hand firmly, daring him to believe otherwise with a look. “You’ve simply been hurt differently, but have every right to feel it.”

Yuri squeezes my hand back in a silent surrender, a trace of a smile playing on his lips. It took longer than I expected to see his smile for the first time, back when I knew him as the kindest stranger I’d ever met. It was when he held Vicchan in his arms and observed his interactions with me that I was finally privileged to see that smile, insecurities temporarily suspended in his distracted nescience. The instant I saw that smile, my heart leapt in my chest; Yuri looks breathtaking when he’s in good spirits. Falling for him was the last thing on my mind when I set foot in his home. Yuri made it second nature, almost as unconsciously as breathing, and he doesn’t seem to realize what he’s done. In all fairness, I don’t think any part of this was intentional on his end; generosity, brightness, determination, passion, sincerity, understanding: these are just things that Yuri is without effort. Even now, as we take turns floating away and anchoring the other, I can feel myself falling further. He doesn’t need me to discuss my career or mention my accomplishments; he doesn’t ask me to speak on anything I feel uncomfortable with; he doesn’t expect me to act serious or conceited or proper. It’s beyond flattering to know that Yuri appreciates me as I am by nature, not by preconceived concepts. I think more than anything, that’s why my heart resides in his hands. I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to. “Victor?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to go inside soon?”

I think about this for a moment. The heat I dredged up in my anger is gone, the need to be in the river gone with it. Yuri had been taking pictures, but if he’s comfortable going back indoors, I have no reason to stick around out here right now. “That’d be nice.”

Once out of the water, I let Yuri guide me back to the guesthouse with interlocked fingers. His grip is soft, but it feels like the most solid thing keeping me grounded right now. My head feels full of air, like the world around me is slightly spinning. Intense emotions, namely negative ones, leave me reeling after they subside. Our discarded clothes mark our path to the shower where we wash away the river’s presence. Yuri’s hands run across my skin, unrushed and thoughtful. I melt under his touch, mimicking his movements on his own body, surprised by my own sudden burst of energy. Yuri’s skin flushes but he doesn’t hesitate in joining our lips together. His kiss is salvation; now that I’ve experienced it, I can’t imagine being without it. Where had I been escaping to before I met Yuri? What colors had I been seeing the world in before stopping in this town? Our hands idly roam, sliding lower, lower, teasing, tempting, taking. It’s almost too much, yet I want more. I’ve lost the ability to speak, but words are superfluous when all we can do is recite the name of the other. Yuri’s voice is soft, like a sigh; it may be quieter than mine, but it’s all I hear. The inevitable need to wash off again gives us a chance to catch our breath. “I forgot to fold towels.” Yuri remembers, turning the water off.

“We’ll share.” My voice sounds rather worse for wear. I knew that would happen, but harbor no regrets; I’ll just have to limit my speaking.

When it’s Yuri’s turn to towel off, I grow weary of standing; I tug on his arm towards the door. “What’re you doing?” He lets out a short laugh. Though he questions me, he doesn’t resist being pulled away from the shower and to the bedroom. The towel gets left behind on the floor after we climb under the covers on the narrow bed. “Are you tired?”

“Mhmm.”

Yuri’s hair is damp, edging near his eyes. I brush it away so nothing obscures those stunning brown irises. He rolls onto his side, draping an arm over me and moving in closer. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

He briefly chews on his lip before opening his mouth again. “When I applied to that camp, I got really sick. I was so afraid that I’d mess up the form, or send it too late.” I leave my hand on the side of Yuri’s face, skimming his warm cheek with my thumb. He was almost certainly a sweet, angelic child; he didn’t deserve to feel such rejection at such a young age. “I could hardly eat or sleep, and my friend almost didn’t go because she felt so bad. She got accepted, and asked if she could write to me but I said no.” Yuri sighs. “We’re still friends, but during that time, we stopped talking. It made me feel even more alone. My family would say I shouldn’t give up and that I was talented, but the only one who could understand was Yuko, and we were ignoring each other.”

“Why?”

“It hurt too much to fail while we were supposed to be succeeding together.” Yuri explains. “I thought we were on the same level, and it was like a punch in the gut to be told I was wrong when I felt so proud of my work.” He shrugs as best he can while on one side. “I really thought those pictures were my best, but they didn’t agree. I hardly slept or ate for some time, and when I did, I had awful dreams and stomach aches. Getting over it wasn’t easy. I mean, clearly it’s still hard for me, but back then I couldn’t even pick up a camera anymore.” My heart aches for Yuri. I had to keep my own photography a secret, but losing the desire to take pictures altogether may have been the end of me. I don’t wait for Yuri to ask; I hold him as close to me as possible, delighting in the way he curls up on my chest with an easy sigh. I want him to know that he no longer needs to hold onto that pain, especially not on his own. “That letter was more than a piece of paper. I didn’t realize it’d weigh so much, but it did. Still does.” His hair isn’t quite dry yet, but it’s soft to my fingers, scented with slightly sweet shampoo and Yuri’s own fragrance. I can’t resist placing a kiss there, lingering a moment to magnify my support. I let my eyes shut but make no attempts to move from the hugging position.

“Yuri, my darling, you’re doing your best. Nobody could ask for anything more.”

He giggles softly, the cutest little laugh I’ve ever been graced with. “I guess. I think I’m slowly improving my skills.”

“Slowly?” My voice isn’t regaining any strength, but it’s not my priority with Yuri in my arms. “You must be aware of how much progress you’ve made. You absorb all my advice so quickly, and I know you’re not done improving yet.” I’ve given Yuri feedback on his portfolio, his physical technique, his mental process, his instant shots, his new photos and his artistic direction. With poise, he’s tweaked his methods and taken in every word like a true professional.

“Can I tell you something else?”

“Of course.”

“I wanted to be like you.” Yuri’s voice is laced with humor. “Ever since I saw your work, I wanted to be just as good. Then the letter thing happened, and it pretty much burst that bubble.”

Learning that Yuri’s been my fan for so long was more flattering than shocking to me. I don’t have many fans from so early on, I don’t think, and it’s an honor to know that I’ve had a hand in inspiring Yuri to climb his own summit. “Don’t worry: one day, it’ll be a privilege to call you a more accomplished artist than myself.” No confirmation is necessary, whether Yuri believes me or not. He snuggles under my chin, exhaling against my skin. I tug the quilt over us and relish in the warmth his body shares with mine. I can feel myself starting to toe the line of consciousness; I don’t try to stop it.

“Thank you, Victor.” Yuri whispers so closely to silence. What he’s thanking me for is unclear, but only one response seems appropriate for a man who’s shown me his heart and stolen mine.

“Thank you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life’s complicated, isn’t it? Now you know more about Victor’s past and a little more about Yuri’s. I wish we knew more about Victor in canon, but alas, we have yet to discover things. I can’t help but add fluff everywhere; I can’t do angst XD До скорого!


	14. Pictures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuri’s about to find some inspiration! I know it took over half the story to get there, but he had some learning to do as a person before the artist could grow, so we’re back to his POV. I say this a lot, but this chapter was fun to write hahha I’d love it if y’all ended up loving it, too :3

If I stay in bed any longer, I’ll lose my chance to take pictures of the horrible house a stone’s throw away in the lighting I want. Yes, its windows stare and judge from afar, it's too tall for its own good, it makes me feel like a child on the verge of sobbing and retching all over again with its cold shoulder; it’s the perfect subject to make me uncomfortable. Strange as it sounds, I finally understand what Victor was trying to tell me before: other people can walk on this land and see that old house, but they won’t see it as a box of nightmares like I do unless I can capture that in a photograph. I sigh, willing myself to get up. Too often, Victor and I find ourselves in this tug of war: I make an attempt to leave the bed, he holds me back and I can’t say no to more snuggling, then I make another attempt by reasoning with him only for him to ask me to stay a little longer, I concede, I check the clock and repeat. The feeling of being desired is a welcome change from…well, anything. It’s hard to say if I like the feeling in general or if I like it because it’s coming from Victor. There’s something about the way his eyes light up when I make him laugh, something about the way he says my name when he’s half asleep, the way he holds me like I’m the only person he needs to hold: it pierces my heart and refills it with just Victor. “I need more practice.” I mutter when he, yet again, drags me back under the covers with him.

“That’s not what your teacher says.”

Since when has my teacher said anything of the sort? I roll my eyes. “Oh yeah? What does my teacher say, then?”

“He says you’re talented, smart and alluring, and you’ve already learned a lot.”

“I hardly think teachers should tell their students they’re alluring.”

Victor yawns and pulls me against his warm skin. “Students shouldn’t seduce their teachers into their beds, then, Yuri.”

I laugh and shake my head at him, knowing he’s not ready to let me go just yet. Hell, his eyes aren’t even open at this point. Why does he need so much sleep? It’s not as though he stays up late and simply isn’t a morning person. I’m not a morning person, either, but it’s already after ten. I tap the tip of his nose. “You sleep a lot.” He hums in response, almost like a groan. When I was in university, I had to make the decision to make business my priority and keep art as a hobby; spending so much time away from the studio took its toll on me and the more I thought about giving up my dream, the worse my state of mind became. I relied on coffee to keep my brain going and craved nothing but sleep to stay away from my own thoughts; it isn’t always a windowless prison with a sentence hanging overhead, but the chain is sometimes heavier than other times. I don’t need Victor to spell this out; I’ve lived that life. “You do what you need.”

“I need you to stay a few more minutes.” Victor’s eyes finally open and meet mine. The blue there is cold and stormy with something sad woven in. Is he sad? I wonder if he had an unpleasant dream. “Please?”

“Sure thing.” I wait for his eyes to shut before kissing his cheek. “A few more and then I have to take some pictures, okay?”

“Thank you.” Victor’s breathing almost immediately slows and deepens: he’s fallen back asleep. I don’t want him to wake up and find the bed empty, so I settle for lying beside him and scrolling through my phone, deciding I’ll wake him when I really have to get up. Work emails are scarce for a change; I think my family’s gotten the hang of not having me around all the time. Well, that and I left them all a list of suggestions for how to tackle the topics that consistently come up. Social media shows that my friends are happy in their lives, smiles taking over my feeds. One of the latest images is Phichit with his boyfriend’s dog, a stoic Siberian husky with striking eyes. I hit the small heart shape under the image as my social activity of the day and play a game instead; the goal is to figure out how to make a gradient with misplaced puzzle pieces. Unfortunately, I don’t get very far when Phichit texts me. He probably saw that I was online a couple minutes ago. His message starts as something I’ve gotten used to hearing him say, then takes a turn: ‘You need to post more selfies! You have Victor now so there should be a lot to choose from :))))’ Why would I be taking more pictures just because Victor is staying at my house?

‘That doesn’t make sense, P.’

He sends several emoji to show his frustration, including bored looking faces. ‘Couples post pictures of themselves!!! It’s so normal lmao’ Couple? He must have the wrong number. Oh, and what Phichit doesn’t know is that I have yet to ask Victor if I can photograph him. To most people, it isn’t a big deal to snap a photo of another person and share it with the world; to me, humans used to be my favorite subjects, leaving me hesitant to go down that road again. ‘Take some now lol it’s fun!!!’ I glance at Victor, blissful in his slumber; there isn’t a chance I’m going to take Phichit’s advice, even if Victor does look perfect. I mean, can skin be so pale and yet glow so warmly? Whose eyelashes are ever curved so flawlessly after just waking up? The trace, no: hint of a smile renders him angelic under that halo of silver.

‘He’s asleep, so that’s not happening. And not really a couple.’

‘Why not? I think you are’

It’s a good thing facts aren’t determined by what Phichit believes. ‘I don't really think so. It's complicated.’ My eyes wander back over my shoulder, where Victor is silently dreaming. While he is showing signs of a smile, something about the way he looks makes me feel a pang of sorrow deep in my chest. His fingers are clinging to the blanket, his body curled on itself, strands of silver covering nearly both eyes; for the first time since meeting Victor, he seems so…fragile, another man from the one who winked a greeting at me. Do others see this side of him? It’s a beautiful side, remarkably mysterious and complex: a reflection of who Victor is as a human being. Before I know it, I’ve switched my phone from the texting app to my camera app, aimed directly at Victor. No, no, this camera won’t do; I need a real camera. I blindly grope the side table and find one, pointing at the sleeping man. I want this shot; I need this shot, but will Victor mind me taking it? With a deep breath, I take my chances and press the button to capture my mentor’s form. I don’t stop there, either, taking shot after shot of Victor, going so far as to slowly step out of bed to get a new angle. The movement manages to make his eyes pop open, glassy and curious.

“Yuri? Are you leaving already?” Victor sits up and the blankets pool at his waist. He looks down to rearrange them, hair masking some of his face and shoulders wonderfully posed at that angle. Without thinking, I hit the shutter button. He whips his head up, eyes wide, and stares at me. Shit, what’ve I done?! I didn’t really mean to do anything but I needed to capture that Victor, permission or not. I quickly lower the camera, sputtering out sounds and word fragments like I’m malfunctioning. A rush of heat floods my face, burning down my neck. I’m the one embarrassed, here; so why is Victor blushing? “Yuri?”

“I’m sorry! I know I didn’t exactly get your consent to photograph you, but I just had to take a few shots and I wasn’t even going to post them or even keep them, probably.” My words don’t sound convincing to me, and I’m the one speaking them. “I just…you looked so…intriguing and I didn’t want to let the opportunity pass. Do you hate me? I’m sorry.”

As childish as my words sound, I feel them rather truly: if the shoe were on the other foot, I’m sure I'd have trouble trusting Victor again. He rakes his hair back, almost frowning. “Of course I don’t hate you.” He shakes his head. “But I’m just…I’m confused.” A moment of quiet passes by while I wait for Victor to elaborate on his confusion, picking at my thumb's nailbed. “Why me?” Victor scoffs with a bitter expression. “You have so many other things you could be photographing, and you haven’t taken any portraits or people pictures in years. Why me, right now?” Finding the proper words is proving to be quite difficult; I show him the pictures instead and wring my hands as his eyes scan the screen. Interest? Disapproval? Anger? Intrigue? “Wow.” Did I hear that correctly? It was a whisper of a comment, but I’m almost positive that’s what I heard. Victor looks up at me, heart shaped grin on full display. “I can’t believe that’s me! Those are amazing.” He shoves the camera back at me, but I still can’t firm words. “You’re so talented.” His eyes sparkle, the blush over his nose and cheeks intensifying. “You should take more!”

“N-no, I couldn’t.”

“But Yuri, you did so well with these. It’d be a crime, a pity, if you didn’t explore this further.” Victor tastefully drapes the blanket around him in a natural pose. “I think you’re onto something. Please don’t hesitate, and give direction whenever.” What is happening right now? Victor Nikiforov is asking me to take pictures of him in my bed while he has my old blanket wrapped around his naked body. For a few seconds, I’m frozen in place; I’ve never done anything like this before, let alone with my idol and mentor. Victor notices I’m just standing there staring at him and peeks up at me with a sweet smile. “Darling, you have my permission.”

Even when Victor knows he’s being photographed, he manages to look unaware of my presence. He moves slowly, shifting his weight from one side to another. He pulls the blanket higher, lower, tosses it aside. He hides a smile, laughs, grins to himself. He avoids looking directly at me or the camera. He shields his eyes with an arm, stretches out, sits up. I capture all of it, every movement and every expression. Between shots, we exchange words of encouragement, sometimes in the form of kisses; Victor beams under the camera after those moments. For the beginning frames, I let him do whatever he wants; then I wonder if he’s done this with anyone before. How else could he be such a natural? I almost ask, but the words that come out aren’t a question at all. “Turn around.” The initial look of shock in Victor's eyes melts into a kind of shyness; I almost change my mind, but he turns his back to me, peeking over one shoulder. My heart stops, breath hitching: every angle of Victor is a beautiful angle. He casts his eyes downward, hair falling to curtain his face. He turns to the wall and stretches, bending his arms. He holds the blanket around himself. He presses his stomach to the bed, rolling to his side for some shots. Everything he does makes me hit the shutter button: click, click, click; a hundred frames aren’t enough, so I take a hundred more. Even if Victor were a stranger, he’d still be inspiring; it’s in the lines of his muscles, the tone of his skin, the effortless way he moves. “Just a few more.” I mutter under my breath. Victor smirks at me while hugging a pillow; I can’t say that the vision isn’t distractingly erotic, but I’m attempting to photograph his vulnerability here more than anything. That is, until Victor tosses a blanket around my shoulders, yanking the ends in his grip to drag me back to the bed. I set the camera aside before collapsing on top of him. There’s no chance for me to question this: he attacks my mouth with his, hurried and deep.

After our kissing becomes too much for our lungs to keep up with, Victor pulls away and rests his lips near my ear. “You’re a very skilled artist.” His words make me shudder, no physical contact required. “But I don’t want you working too hard.”

“You’re fun to photograph, though. Doesn’t feel like work.” I tell him between kisses.

“Mm, you may be under that illusion, but breaks are a necessity.” Victor runs his fingers through my hair, grazing my scalp. “Your hair grows fast. Is there a place in town you’re going to go to?”

“When I’m home.”

Victor blinks, then nibbles at my lower lip. “Right, home. Do you think you’ll miss this place?”

What I’ll miss is this time with Victor; I’m going to miss him and our memories here, but not the house itself. This isn’t a topic I want to think about, so I stop the thoughts in their tracks and poke Victor in the forehead. “There are parts I’ll miss. Can we look at the pictures together?”

“Of course.”

We sit up against the wall, eyes glued to the small camera screen. Victor hooks his arm around my shoulders, using his other hand to hold the device closer to him than me; I’ve already seen the pictures, so I don’t mind getting glimpses. He scrolls through the images once, taking them in with a comfortable silence. The second time through, Victor points at certain parts of the shots with a word of awe, surprise, advice. Some comments meander off into a short discussion, a couple becoming suggestions including constructive criticism; I take these seriously but not personally. After all, Victor is only trying to help me. The third time we go through every frame, all he can do is wax poetic about how incredible I am as an artist. It’s almost too much flattery, my face burning hot, but for whatever reason, I believe he’s being sincere. I think it’s his smile that gives away his true emotions: it isn’t controlled or proper, but almost silly in its joy. Honestly, it catchers me off guard how unapologetically cute Victor can be. It isn’t fair. “I think I’m thirsty.” I mention. We still haven’t left this room and noon came and went some time ago.

Victor places a sloppy kiss on my temple. “Want me to get you something?”

“I can go get some water, or tea.” I reach my arms out in a stretch, yawning luxuriously. “I need to wake up.”

“I’ll go get you something, okay?” He kisses me again and finds a pair of boxer briefs on the floor. “I want to talk about a possible job for you.” The chance to protest dissipates when Victor turns the corner without another word. When Victor has a mind to do something for me, there’s no talking him out of it. His generosity knows no bounds. On the side table, my phone vibrates beneath a pile of fabric. I toss the blanket to the bed to read the text.

Phichit says: ‘What’s complicated about it?’ followed by ‘Are you in love with him?’ and ‘Yuuuuriiiiii tell me if you’re busy so I can leave you alone’ and then ‘I hope you’re just busy and nothing is wrong’

I suppose I should text him back. ‘Sorry, I had an impromptu shoot. I’m fine.’

‘You scared me!!! You always say bye before you leave. All is good??’

I sigh and lie back down. Phichit is going to ask about Victor in some way or another; I wish he won’t, but I know he will. Until then, I’ll try to steer the conversation in another direction. ‘Yes, I’m good. How was your meeting?’ Phichit had to have a talk with his supervising professor yesterday. He was nervous about it, but didn’t know if it was a bad meeting or a standard one. It’s between midterms and finals, so I told him it would probably be academic.

‘I forgot to tell you :o Prof said that my work was chosen for a show :)))) I’ll be one of the featured artists representing the university!!!’

Oh. Oh, wow, he’s starting to reach his dream. Phichit’s career is beginning on a great note. Already spotted from university as talent. I’m excited for him, but what is this ache in my chest? I am happy for Phichit, I swear, but…why was it so easy for him? There were times he struggled in university, like in his math classes, but he always impressed our art instructors and passed critiques with flying colors. He works hard and loves what he does, but he didn’t have setbacks like I did; I can’t help the bit of envy that runs through me. ‘Congratulations! That’s even better news than I could’ve imagined :) We'll celebrate when I get home.’

‘We better! I miss you :(( Are you bringing Victor with you?’

There’s no way Victor would want to go with me. He has so much going on, and he should focus on his own career instead of helping me more; he’s already done enough for me. ‘I miss you, too. I’ll buy you a cake. Victor is a busy man, and he has work to do.’

‘Maybe some other time! But we should hang out before you go home since my place is on the way. Want to?’

Maybe some Phichit time will be nice before getting back to work, and back to reality. ‘Yes, that’ll be fun :) I’m not getting drunk, though.’ When he wants to celebrate, alcohol is always involved in mass quantities. I don’t mind getting drunk with Phichit; he never makes me feel bad the next day when we can barely manage to order in or run through the shower. We continue texting for a few minutes, making plans to go out for drinks and going back to his place for the night, since his boyfriend won’t be in town that weekend. When he has to go for his class, I abandon the phone and look towards the door; how long has Victor been gone? I check my phone, discovering Victor’s been gone longer than I thought. It shouldn’t take this long to make tea or get water, and he wanted to say something else about my pictures. After pulling a shirt on and collecting my camera, I make my way to the kitchen. Victor doesn’t hear me walk to the doorway; he’s leaning against the counter with a book, reading glasses perched on his nose, still mostly undressed. For a second, I think he’s been waiting there, posed for more photos, but he doesn’t show any signs of recognition. Victor looks too interesting not to photograph; I take a couple photos before he looks up in my direction.

“Hi, Yuri. Aren’t you a bit overdressed?” Victor smirks. I continue taking pictures while we talk.

“For what occasion?”

He takes his glasses off, wedging his thumb in the book to keep his place. “You were supposed to be relaxing in bed. Your teacher doesn’t want you working too hard.” I can’t help but continue shooting, crouching then standing then crossing the room.

“What if I feel inspired?”

Victor slips his glasses back on, returning to his book. “Just until the water is ready.”

“What water?”

“On the stove.”

I stand straight, eyes falling to the kettle. None of the burners are currently on, but I can guarantee this isn’t intentional. It takes all of my willpower to not laugh behind the camera. “Victor, dear?”

“Hmm?”

“The heat isn’t on.”

Victor slowly turns to the stove, slapping a hand over his face when he realizes his mistake. Naturally, I photograph this, too; even embarrassed, I feel compelled to take his picture. “Damn it.” He quickly turns the knob for the proper burner, beginning the process he thought he started minutes ago. “I’m sorry, Yuri. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting so long.” A tint of red colors his cheeks and nose; this, too, makes a great photograph. I set the camera aside and sit on the counter behind Victor, rubbing his shoulders. He sighs and leans back, setting the book down too close to the stove.

“Don’t worry about it, Victor.” I move the book away. Oh, this was one of my favorite weekend reads! “I love this book. Isn’t it uplifting?”

I think my massage is making it difficult for Victor to respond. “So far. It’s very sweet.” He mutters.

“It made me feel like I could do anything.” I pat his shoulders and turn him around to face me. “Can I ask you something?”

“You don’t need to ask permission. You can always tell me anything.”

“What did you mean earlier when you said you wanted to talk about possible jobs?” I slide my hands from his shoulders so I can thread my fingers through his.

“Thank you for reminding me.” Victor grins. “Have you ever considered being a fashion photographer, or working with people and models?” He squeezes my hands, moving them as if we’re engaged in a dance. “You have a way of turning someone standing still into a living work of art. I’ve never seen such life in a still shot.”

I roll my eyes, smiling in spite of myself. “You’re just saying that.”

He, in turn, arches an eyebrow. “I’d never.” Wearing glasses does give Victor a more mature air, but if I told him this, he may find it offensive, so I keep the thought to myself. “You have talent, and I want you to think about it seriously. You could become one of the great ones in the industry.”

“What do you want me to think about? Fashion?”

“Yuri, I want to share something with you, but I don’t want you thinking that it’s somehow special treatment.” Victor’s eyes are serious, but his smile is still in place. I nod for him to continue. “I know many people in the art world, including designers and editors and other artists. Of course you can work on your own collections and sell them, but if you genuinely want a stable job with other creative minds, I can help you and put in a good word on your behalf.” My jaw drops, eyes growing large and round. He wants to do more than help me improve? That’d be putting his name on the line even further, and going out of his way…for me. Victor laughs, eyes sparkling. “Before you say anything, I need to make it clear that this is only if you truly want this: to photograph people.”

“But what if I’m no good? That’s your reputation on the line!”

“I believe in you.”

“But what if they don’t like me?”

“Anyone would be lucky to work with you.”

“What if you change your mind?”

“I’ll always support you.”

“But what if—”

“Yuri!” Victor laughs again, pressing his forehead to mine. “You don’t have to make a decision now. Take your time, and think it over, and you can let me know your thoughts on it whenever you want, no expiration date.”

What he’s offering me is very generous. I’d be a fool not to at least consider Victor’s words; I need to think about where I want to go with my career before it begins. If this offer is truly open indefinitely, even after we part ways, I’d constantly have options. Why would he put himself in this position for me, though? It’s a huge gamble, and there’s no telling if he’d ever get anything in return. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

He smiles, closing the distance between us, not quite making contact. “Say you’ll think about it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I’m glad.” Victor pulls me in for a hug, tight and prolonged. “I just know you’ll be someone who inspires others, no matter what you do.” His words hit me in all the right places: a wonderful person thinks I’m wonderful, and has enough faith in me for the both of us. There’s no way I can repay him for all he’s done, but right now, I feel like I have to try: I kiss him. I kiss him and I don’t let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this on my phone, so pardon or point out any mistakes hahha I have a BS degree in fashion, and it kind of crept into the story during Victor’s offer XD I apologize for nothing. ..except what I’m going to put these two through after the next chapter. That I am sorry for, but, like, it’ll be groovy, so stick around!


	15. Boxes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For whatever reason, I make damn sure that no chapter starts with the same word. Has anyone noticed? XD Are y’all even there? Hahha super JK; I’m so glad to have such supportive and kind readers! I know multi-chap fics aren’t everyone’s jam, so it means a great deal to still have comments and new readers and kudos and such :D Ready for more fluff? Read on, you lovely you!

Steam swirls from the kettle, slightly fogging my glasses. I pour the hot water in both mugs before returning to my phone, message from Mari unread. She called me earlier this morning to talk about the buyer, and we’ve been texting back and forth about arrangements since. Her texts are spaced a few minutes apart, containing little enthusiasm. ‘You can’t come home any sooner?’

In all honesty, I could go home today or tomorrow. But I don’t want to. ‘The window still has to be fixed and I can’t leave before that.’

‘Does the place look good? It’s supposed to be shiny and new and ready to move into.’

‘It’ll get there. I just have to move things.’

‘What have you been doing if not moving things lol’

Victor, mostly. Of course I don’t say this, blushing instead and thinking of a proper response. ‘Working on photography and cleaning. The places were dirty, not just cluttered.’ I’m not sure anybody realized just how filthy these houses were when I got here. I know I underestimated how much cleaning I had to do; I went through too many cleaning products and masks.

‘Ok ok. Make sure that window gets fixed’

I think someone is coming by tomorrow to fix it, but all the days seem to be running together. I’ve put off actual work, mostly to improve my art, but also to avoid thinking about what will inevitably happen with Victor. ‘It will be done soon.’

‘Good. How are you doing?’

Conflicted. At times, I feel happier than I’ve felt in a long time; other times, I feel so much pain at the thought of leaving Victor behind. If it wasn’t for his smile, I’d forget to make the most of our time together. I hate seeing anything but that smile on his face. ‘I’m fine, but busy. You?’

Mari’s reply is much faster than her earlier ones. ‘Tired lmao but fine too’

‘I know it’s different without me, but I’ll be home soon :) I’m staying with Phichit before going back to the house, but just one night because he misses me.’

I take the tea out of the cups and add a drop or two of honey to Victor’s mug; his throat is sore this morning, and some of the sweet syrup should help remedy that. Mari replies between when I leave the kitchen and when I set the cups on the coffee table, the vibration in my pocket alerting me. Victor smiles over at me, looking up from his computer. “Thank you, darling.”

“You're not supposed to be talking until your throat feels better.” I remind him, checking the text.

‘Sleepover XD lol ok, we’ll see you soon and keep us updated. Love you’

Victor laughs before sipping the hot tea. I shake my head, replying to the text. ‘Will do. Love you, too.’ My tea is slightly over-steeped, but drinkable. Vicchan hops up and settles on my lap, tucking his paws beneath his head. Makkachin makes herself at home at our feet, curled in a ball of fluff.

“It's your fault, you know.”

My jaw drops at Victor's accusation, making him laugh further. “My fault?”

“Indeed.” He smirks. I roll my eyes, ignoring the heat rising to my face, and go back to my tea. Victor nudges me with his elbow. “You’re too good. I can’t help myself.” Even more heat burns my cheeks when his words hit; I’m glad the dogs don’t speak English.

“It’s a good thing the neighbors live miles away.” I mumble.

Victor closes his laptop and moves closer to me. “Agreed. Did you enjoy breakfast?”

He made eggs and served them with rye bread and a blackberry spread he made. “Of course. I appreciate you cooking.” I scoff when I think about my own culinary skills. “I’m not very good at it.”

“You’re not as bad as you think you are.” Victor smiles. “One day you’ll have to try real black bread.”

“Would I like it?”

“I think so.” He taps his chin. “It's like rye, but it has more flavor.”

Absently, I nod, dreading the task I haven’t yet begun. I sigh, setting my mug down. “Whenever you’re ready, we can take the boxes over and pack. Don’t feel any need to rush.” Victor’s shoulder looks inviting; I lean against him, looping an arm through his. “Like, at all, okay? I’m in no hurry.” If I could stay here on the sofa with him for the rest of the day, I’d be the happiest man. Victor kisses the top of my head and rests his chin there.

“Let’s finish our tea first, then we can get started. It won’t be too long of a chore, and we can relax more after. Or you can work some, if you’d like.”

“Do you think I could take a camera with us?”

He hums in thought, then gives me another kiss. “Yes, that’ll be interesting.” I pull back to get a good look at Victor, seeing only encouragement across his face. “What is it?” He chuckles.

“I…I appreciate you letting me take your picture, I guess.” I adjust my glasses while trying to gather my thoughts. It’s a privilege to work so closely with Victor, even more so in the context that we do; I feel like it’s helped me immensely to work in such a way with someone so skilled. “It’s really helpful to work with you every step of the way. I think it’s been a big help.” His smile grows, a tint of red washing over his pale features. “It's also really fun.” I admit.

Victor gently clears his throat, resting his fingers on his chest. “I’m relieved you feel that way.”

“What do you mean?”

He blinks once before making eye contact again. “I’ve never really been a mentor, or a model. I'm glad I could be of some use to you.”

I lean over for a hug, holding him tightly; he has no idea how much of an inspiration he is to me, does he? “You’ve been more help than I've ever gotten. It’s been so long since I felt this need to improve and prove myself.” Victor sets his cup down in order to properly return the embrace. I’ve already finished my tea, but if his is gone, we'll have to start chores. I groan, glaring at his mug. “Don’t tell me you’ve finished drinking, Victor.” When he nods, I bury my face in his shirt with another groan of dread.

“It’ll go by in a flash.” Victor laughs softly.

“You don’t know that.”

“Let’s find out, then.”

We let our dogs out to the fenced backyard, collecting various items left behind out there; they’ll go in their own small box, to be packed in the trailer another time. I give Victor the task of putting cardboard boxes together when we get inside; I had a stack of flattened ones in the back of the car that now need to be assembled and filled. He pouts when it becomes apparent that he’s quite bad at this. I hold back a laugh and demonstrate the process, giving him packing tape to make the job easier. I take one of the boxes upstairs to my room where the music from his phone fails to reach. Not much remains around up here, and I’d already put my old things in groups and piles to make things even easier. For a minute, I think I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. When I peek out the doorway, though, my shadow is my only companion. A wave of loneliness passes over me, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. Just a few weeks ago, I was prepared for solitude; now I’ve gotten used to two sets of footsteps. I call for Victor, asking for music and another empty box. He helps me pack, smiling all the while, often humming with the music. The other two rooms go by quickly with his cheeriness keeping me company: books, games, lamps, curtains, frames all get tucked away in unmarked boxes. Victor still has the tape, sealing them at the seams. I smile at his overzealous handiwork; it’ll take some effort to open them again but that’s not my bridge to cross. “Looks like we found the right job for you.”

He laughs, pushing a box aside. “I’m more than happy to help. I do have an idea for you, though.” Victor leans towards me, eyes on the floor between us.

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise. Is it okay if I leave for a minute? I’ll finish helping you when I get back.”

Well, there really isn’t that much left to do; it’s enough that Victor has helped this far. I shrug. “You don’t have to help. There isn’t a lot left to do anyway.”

“Yuri, I wouldn’t leave when we’re almost finished.” Victor chuckles, dusting off his pants when he stands. “I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere. I mean, you don’t have to sit there but don’t go too far.”

I nod, sending my gaze to the boxes after he leaves. They’re not human, but they have an interesting look, all neat and tidy in the emptiness around us; I take a few pictures, shifting slightly to get different angles. When I get home, I think I want to spend some time with Vicchan in the courtyard. While I know Victor thinks I should focus on human subjects, I’d like to have fun with other things, too. Maybe taking pictures of models will pay for my own apartment, but taking pictures for fun will feed my soul. I lift my camera again and let my focus drift from the floor across the room and to the window. Mari used to complain about the tree branches out there, scraping against the pane on windy nights; she said it would wake, and sometimes keep, her up until the sun rose. The branches in question have long since broken and fallen away; I take a few pictures of the view from up here but the last one is blurry: the sound of the front door shutting startled me. I shake my head and redo the shot, enjoying the warmth of the light seeping in. I never told Mari, but I was kind of jealous that she had the room by the tree; it might have been nice background noise to read mystery novels to. The tree sure makes for interesting photographs, too, now that I can get a unique view of it and Mari isn’t here to yell at me to get out of here. I take my time, snapping shots from the window while attempting to catch the best light through the leaves, peeking out through the negative spaces. When I open the window, the screen is too much of a distraction, so I close it again and lean against the wall with a satisfied sigh. Scrolling through the pictures shows that I’ve taken more than I thought. How long have I been at this, anyway? More time has passed than I realized but Victor still hasn’t come back; he must be downstairs, though, since I heard the front door a while ago. Letting my camera hang around my neck, I step around the boxes and to the staircase; I don’t hear any music playing, but I do hear a voice singing words I don’t understand, compelling me to listen closely. The song pulls me down the steps, around the corner; I had no idea this voice could sound like this. When I reach the source, I feel guilty for coming into view because Victor stops singing so he can smile, greeting me with a hello. A similar sentiment is on the tip of my tongue, but it sticks there: Victor is setting up a tripod beside a row of lenses, lined up neatly beside a large case. “What…what is all this?” My eyes don’t know where to rest: his camera, this lens or that one, his smile. “Were you just singing?”

Victor blushes with a tiny shrug. “I guess I just felt like it.” He gestures to the setup, smile growing. “What do you think? I meant to set up faster but I got caught up with the dogs.”

“I can’t believe you brought so much equipment.” I step closer to the camera, fingers not daring to make contact but coming damn close. I can only dream of affording a device like this! I wonder if I’d even make a purchase like that if I had the money. “What’re you going to photograph?” Victor laughs at my question, resting a hand on my shoulder. When I turn to face him, he pats my back.

“This is for you to try, Yuri!” Wait, what? He laughs again, pulling me in for a side hug. “You’re showing so much progress, and I want you to use something new. I want to see what you see.”

I think he’s serious. Oh, wow, he is! I’m struggling to form words, hugging him instead. “Gosh, are you sure?” Victor nods in response. “Holy shit, Victor.” I cover my mouth, trying my best to keep the excitement in. Quickly, it’s all in vain: I bounce on my toes, squealing and shouting thank you more times than necessary, squeezing Victor around the shoulders tight enough to impair his breathing. “Your camera’s worth more than I am. Can I really use it?” I practically run to the tripod, hesitating to feel if it’s real.

With a nod, Victor sits in front of the camera. “While I disagree with that, darling, I insist you try it out. I think you’ll enjoy that model. It’s very intuitive.”

Victor is absolutely right; his camera is straightforward, but has so many features. The fun really begins when I experiment with his lenses. One of them takes pictures that look clearer than real life, another freezes motion like magic, another can focus in horrible lighting. Victor makes tiny movements from his spot on the floor, leaning an elbow on his knee, leaning forward, smile reaching his eyes. The silence is comfortable, but the song he was singing before I entered the room might be nicer. “Can I ask what you were singing earlier?” I continue taking pictures, noticing the color rising to Victor’s face again. He taps his chin before answering.

“Yes, of course you can. It’s a song I learned when I was really little. This older lady my mother and I worked with would sometimes sing it at the end of the day.”

When he speaks, his eyes fall to the floor; I smile when the spark in them remains. “It’s Russian?”

“It is.”

His eyes finally meet mine as best they can with the camera between us. “Do you…do you think you could sing it again?” Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that. The shock crossing Victor’s face makes me think I’ve crossed a line. Crap, I should’ve known better! “I-I’m sorry, it’s just…well, I’ve never heard you sing before and you have a really nice voice, and…you can say no, or forget I asked.” It’s a good thing the camera’s on the tripod: my hands are shaking too much to hold it still on their own.

I’m met with tsk of disapproval. “What did we say about apologizing so much?” Victor smirks, leaning back on the heels of his hands, legs crossed at the ankles. “If you promise not to laugh, I can sing it again.”

“Why would I laugh?”

“I haven’t sung in years, and my voice is still a bit raspy.”

“I’d never.”

His expression softens into a tender smile. I almost forget to capture it on film, caught up in how beautiful he looks in the empty room. Victor parts his lips and fills the space with the unfamiliar, but melodic, words from earlier. The sound surrounds me in a gentle embrace, tentative at first, building to a more solid shroud of confident notes with the rapid shots I take. Click, click, blink, click, catch my breath, click, click. He sits up straighter, bending his knees and resting his hands on them. Inside, a battle between my head and heart ensues: continue photographing Victor, my idol and friend and teacher and lover, while he looks fragile and solid and gorgeous, or abandon the camera for the sake of feeling him in my arms, holding him like he deserves to be held, showing him that it’s okay to let his guard down. When Victor’s vulnerable this way, I can’t resist taking more and more photographs; I can hug him later, when he’s finished his song. In a way, I don’t want it to end and it is too short, but now we can make eye contact without me being so focused on this side of the camera. Victor’s smile is nearly bashful and all happiness. “Did you like it?”

For the life of me, I don’t know how to respond. A simple affirmation doesn’t feel like enough. How do I tell Victor that I feel like I’ve seen into his soul, his shadows and light, from hearing his singing voice? I mean, I’ve gotten to know him pretty well, but I feel like this song has brought that to an entirely deeper level. My body replies for me, head nodding as I step towards the middle of the room. The nearer I get, the more Victor’s eyes shine with mist. “Amazing.” I crouch in front of him, jarred by the redness around his sea colored irises. He shuts them when I cradle his face in my hands, gripping my wrists with little force.

“It feels good to sing again.”

It’s taken twenty years for Victor to do this; what a privilege to be around for it. “You did great, Victor.” I bring his body to mine, holding him firmly against me. “Beyond great.” Victor returns the hug, arms around my waist.

We stay silent for a moment or two, no words required. At some point, Victor presses a firm kiss to my mouth before pulling back with a heart shaped smile. “It sounded like you took a lot of pictures! Can we look at them together?” He asks. Usually, that’s my line, but the eagerness projecting from him cannot be argued with. I should really be embarrassed of how many images I captured in those few minutes, but I can’t say that I am. Hell, I wish I took more.

“That sounds good. Let me check the kitchen situation first.” I stand from his grasp, but Victor wiggles his fingers up to be held again. “I think I want to finish packing, then we can look at them in the guesthouse.” When our hands are clasped, he stands with me. “Is that okay?”

“Well, since it’s you…” Victor kisses me quickly, retreating with a smirk. “I’ll allow it.”

I roll my eyes, finding myself smiling similarly. “So generous of you.”

“I do try.”

When I turn the corner to reach the kitchen, my heel slips out from under me, the hardwood still polished from when Victor and I cleaned it. I catch myself on the wall, but not before letting out a short screech like some kind of injured animal. I right myself, trying to ignore the burn of embarrassment across my face, as Victor rushes to my side.

“Yuri? Are you o—” His words turn into a gasp; his socks, like mine, disagree with the smooth floor, and he slides past me.

“Be careful!” I take a slow step towards him, figuring out the safest way to plant my feet. Victor laughs, grabbing my wrist, and disregards my plea to put safety first. The motion sends us into a spin. “What’re you doing?” I shake my head.

“Enjoying myself!” Victor glides across the floor, dragging me with him for every turn and twirl he decides to do. “I won’t let you fall. You trust me, right?”

I mean, is that even a question? I roll my eyes, holding back a smile, sticking my hand out for Victor to take. “Lead the way, sir.” Before he obliges, he sets his phone on the counter and plays music for us. Victor kisses the back of my hand before pulling me around the room in simple patterns against the hardwood. It takes little effort for him to lead me this way and that, his smile something I try to etch in my brain. The fear of falling fades knowing that if I start to slip, Victor will be there to catch me; or, if that doesn’t work out, I’ll take him down with me. “You have really good balance.” I mention when he dips me at the end of a song.

“I figured this floor out.” Victor chuckles, standing me upright again. “It’s fun, isn’t it?”

This question includes a demonstration: he runs to the other side of the room, turning on his heel to slide using momentum, fingers tangled with mine so we don’t get separated. I’ll admit, sock skating sounded rather dangerous at first, but somehow this man has removed any fright, caution and danger from my mind. I even find myself laughing out loud, gripping Victor’s hands with purpose. To say I can’t remember the last time I had such a good time would be a lie: it was when we danced across the same floors. “You’re fun.” Those words weren't supposed to actualize. Now that they’re out, well, I don’t really mind; not when they make Victor smile like that.

“My, aren’t you a kind one?”

“Eh, I try.”

It takes some negotiating, but we eventually pack every remaining item in the house in little time; with the promise of reviewing my photos over a snuggle session, of course. This last box doesn’t want to close right, though. Hm. Maybe if I move a couple of these books, or…oh no: that godforsaken envelope slipped from between the pages, resting by my knees. I guess Victor had returned it to its hiding place after I ran out on him. Why did he put it back? My fingers dread picking it up, slowly moving towards the pale paper. Before I reach it, another hand swipes it from the floor. “No more.” Victor holds the envelope over the box, swiftly pulling the top corners in opposing directions. “No more negativity.” The halves become quarters. “No more doubts.” Eighths. “No more bad memories.” Shred, shred, shred. “No more irrelevant voices.” Dozens of pieces fall to the floor without a sound. His words have existed in my head for a while now, pushing me forward; the physical gesture is his support in that journey, and it means the world. With a smile, I pick up one of the little scraps, pulling it apart and letting it drop onto the pile.

“No more.”

Once in the guesthouse, Victor uploads the images I took to a new folder on his computer, labelling it with my first and last name; another folder is already labelled Yuri, dedicated to his other pupil, I’m sure. The background image on his screen is Makkachin sleeping in a striped knitted jumper; it’s an adorable photo, even if it was taken with a cell phone camera. “Come sit with me.” Victor pats the space next to him on the sofa. Vicchan takes this as an invitation to climb up and sprawl out on the seat. I laugh, but Victor gasps. “Vicchan, that’s not nice.” He drops my dog in his lap, setting the laptop on the table. “There. Let’s have a look.”

“I may have gotten carried away with this shoot.” I chew my bottom lip for a moment before bringing the computer back. “I couldn’t stop.”

Victor kisses Vicchan’s head and shrugs, eyes glued to the screen where the pictures scroll by at my command. “Inspiration is fickle. Run away with it when you can.” I hit the right arrow key to view the next image, when Victor started singing. He smiles, nudging me with his elbow. “Are these your favorites? Your focus was remarkable. I forgot to mention that earlier.”

I absently nod. “Nothing could’ve stolen my focus.” Not when he was singing, heart exposed.

“I’m flattered.” The couch cushion sinks beside me as Victor moves in closer. “Do you think you’d like to share or sell any of these? You have my permission for all of the ones with me in them.”

Without thought, I shake my head. “Oh, no.” I notice Victor’s starting to pout, brows drawn inward; I give his cheek a quick kiss. “These are too…personal, I think. The ones from today, anyway. The ones we took in the bedroom might be worth sharing. Like, a couple of them.” I think I'd like people to see a different side of Victor, one that isn’t perfect and put together; perhaps even a few different sides from different shoots. I turn to him, unsure how to phrase my question without it sounding like I’m pressuring him. Then again, Victor isn’t one to stay quiet when he has a strong opinion. “Um, so, Victor.” Off to a brilliant start. “Would it be strange to have, say, a collection of pictures from our different shoots together? Like, one or two pictures from each to share?” I don’t wait for a response; my mouth starts running on autopilot. “If you say no, I won’t do it, but if you say okay I’d like some help in editing and selecting them since you're the model, and all. But you can have final say in what gets posted, and I won't—”

“Yuri.” A hand squeezes my shoulder, turning me to better meet his stare. Victor nods once, sweet, gentle smile taking over his face. “I would be honored to be the sole subject of your debut collection.”

I must be dreaming. When I feel the pain of my fingers pinching my arm, I know I’m awake. “R-really?”

He laughs lightly, retracting his hand. “I don't see why that should surprise you. Don’t you know how much I want to be a part of your story?” Victor’s words give me butterflies of worry and excitement: I can do this, but can I do this? Vocalizing these thoughts would earn a look of concern from Victor, but it’s equal parts terrifying and liberating to know this man believes in me so strongly: I don’t want to fail. “I mean, I’m your teacher and mentor. You’re already a success in my eyes.” It’s like he was reading my mind; all that’s left is for me to look in the mirror and feel proud of who’s looking back at me. That, I can do.

“Thank you.” I set the computer between myself and the sofa's arm, leaning in to embrace Victor. I hold him by his waist, avoiding crushing Vicchan, and exhale the nerves I'd built up. “You’re the best.” Best what? I’m not sure. He’s the best at many things, but I don’t specify, choosing to let my actions elaborate. Victor uses one arm to hug back, quickly deciding that’s not enough and places my poodle on the floor, hugging at his full potential. I’ve grown used to these arms around me, this scent surrounding me; it makes it difficult to let go, so I only pull back enough to get a good look at Victor. It took me a couple of days to notice the few freckles on either side of his nose, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that linger after he laughs, the tiny crook in his teeth that he tries to hide almost as much as his hairline; I can’t stop seeing those things now, and it’s almost a shame that it took until meeting him to discover these endearing imperfections. One of Victor’s eyebrows rises in confusion.

“What is it?”

I’ve been caught staring, and it isn’t the first, nor will it be the last, time. “I…I’m just so glad I met you.” It isn’t a lie. No, they aren’t the words my sentimental heart wanted me to say, but they’re the ones my ruthless brain picked out.

“Awww, darling Yuri.” Victor sets a series of kisses down from the crown of my head to my lips. “I’m glad we met, too, though I have a hunch we’ve already shared these words.” He smirks.

“Yeah, but it’s still true, even if I say it twenty more times.”

“And fifty more?”

I scoff at Victor’s childishness but smile at his unrelenting cuteness. “Still true.”

He laughs, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “I appreciate your honesty.” Ah, he just winked at me. “You know, I’ve never critiqued photos of myself before. This might be a challenge.”

“Doubtful.” I turn to grab the computer again, but Victor’s arm remains draped over my shoulders. “You want to keep looking?” I point at the screen. His grip loosens with a quick nod, focusing on the images again.

“Yes, of course. Keep going.”

I’m trying my best to listen to his comments, to take notes of the feedback, but some of his words fly right by me. I frown, listening with more intent; if I don’t make the most of these lessons from Victor, I know I’ll end up regretting it. I suppose it’s just not that easy when I keep remembering that our days together are numbered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They simply had to skate XD I regret nothing. The song Victor was singing is called Гори, гори, моя звезда, or Shine, Shine, My Star; it’s old-fashioned and romantic. I’ve been having a very off week, so. ..self-indulgence hahha I’m really glad I’m still getting new readers, BTW! It warms my heart :3 I’ll see you next week, y’all ~


	16. Calling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you lovely people enjoyed the last chapter because this one isn’t really fluffy.. .it was kind of cathartic to write, but I’ll explain that later. For now, read on for another Yuri chapter featuring a Phichit cameo and a glimpse of Yurio!

Beyond the glass I can see birds sitting in the trees, spreading their wings in the afternoon light, singing songs that can’t be translated. The way they hop from branch to branch, or even from place to place on the ground, is funny in more than one sense of the word. If I listen closely, I can hear crickets out there, too, adding their music with no regard to what the birds sing. I suppose it should be relaxing to gaze out at nature, quiet all around me, alone in the main house. The tension in my shoulders, the dull ache of my head, the knots in my stomach persist with every deep breath I take and every cup of tea I drink. When I tried to sleep last night, all I could do was sit up and stare at Victor, sound asleep, and sigh when I’d try to sleep again. I would’ve given anything in those hours to dream with him, to shut my brain down for a while and let the anxieties subside. The buyer will be arriving in three days, but I told Victor to pack for the day after tomorrow; there’s no need for him to stay a few hours in the morning while I hand the keys over, so he can get back to his normal life a day ahead. I mean, why should I force him to leave his shore house and rearrange his plans for me? I won’t do it, no matter how much I want to. Sighing, I press my fingers to the windowsill, almost leaning against the cold, clear surface; I don’t want to have to clean it again, so I take a step back and continue to stare straight ahead. Two days: that’s all I have left with Victor. How much more can I learn in that amount of time? Does he have a plan, or is he going to improvise a lesson? Surely he realizes our time together is running out; I know it’s about all I can think of. Another sigh escapes as I turn on my heel to leave; the broken glass has been swept away, the pane replaced in little time. I’ve stayed in this house longer than necessary.

The floor creaks under every other step I take to the front door. I don’t know if it’s always done that; it’s a good thing this old place will be taken off our hands very soon, as I’m sure more things need to be fixed up than just the window. The new owner will find the tub permanently cold, a wall or two dinged, paint worn and bleached from the sun, squeaky hinges here and there. Even though we cleaned and shined up the place, some of its cracks can’t be hidden that easily; it might take a special eye to notice, but that’s a problem for someone who isn’t me.

I have to squint when I get outside, the cloud coverage reflecting too much light for my taste. There’s a small chance it might rain tomorrow, but I doubt that’ll happen. Victor would probably love it, but I’ve had about enough rain for the foreseeable future; then again, it might give him something to do without me. I think it may be best if we do our own thing until he leaves to make it easier to part ways. I’m terrible at saying goodbye, but it has to be done. It hurts to think about, but it’s the only persisting thought in my head: there’s no other way. My hand is locked on the doorknob, but I don’t twist it. I hang my head, drawing out an exhale. Today isn’t going to be an easy day, and it’s still morning. “Keep it together.” I mutter. “Student and teacher.” At last, I turn the knob and walk back into the guesthouse, picking at my thumbnail, eyes glued to the floor. My fingertips are cold and I can’t get my hands to stop shaking.

“That was fast!” Victor comments from behind his computer. What’s he talking about?

“Huh?”

“The repair went quickly. I assume it went well?”

Oh, right: the reason I wasn’t here. “Uh, yeah, it’s all finished. Looks like new.” I gesture towards the kitchen, walking to the doorway. “I think I’m gonna make tea. Want some? I’ll get you a cup.”

“I already made some.” Victor points to the cups on the table, still concentrating on his computer.

“Right.” I nod and step over to the sofa. I practically sit on the arm, ensuring I’m not too close to Victor. My eyes focus on the door, avoiding the man beside me and his computer screen. After a moment of silence, I grab my mug and choke down a sip of the hot liquid, sputtering and coughing loudly in the silent room. Victor frowns, turning to me.

“Are you okay?” He asks. I nod, attempting to get air instead of liquid in my lungs. “Do you need anything?” I shake my head, returning the cup to its original spot.

“’M fine.”

After my coughing subsides, Victor stops staring and turns back to his work. “Don’t scare me like that, Yuri. I know it wasn’t on purpose, but you had me worried.”

“Right, sorry.” What am I apologizing for? I’ve already forgotten Victor’s words, chewing on my thumbnail while my heart races. This is proving to be more difficult than I imagined; distancing myself from him physically hurts and I don’t know what to do to make it stop. I guess it’s just something I’ll have to work through. Victor hums for a minute while he busies himself with his project; I haven’t seen what he’s working on and I haven’t asked, but I’m sure it’ll be impressive. Asking to see it now would feel like taking advantage of Victor, presumptuous and entitled, so I’ll see it when he shares it publicly.

A few clicks later, and Victor turns to me again. “Are you ready to work on yours?”

“Only if you’re finished.”

He chuckles, handing the laptop over. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise. You picked the ones you want to share, right?” I glance at the other Yuri folder, clicking mine instead. I have an idea of which photos I want to edit, but I’m still uncertain about the whole thing. There are some pictures that feel too intimate for the public to see, like the ones I took between kisses and when Victor unintentionally made bedroom eyes at me behind the camera. “Yuri?”

“What?”

“I asked if you decided which photos you want to work on.”

Shit, I didn’t mean to ignore him; my face reddens under his gaze. “Sort of. I think I know which ones, but I’m not sure.”

“What’s holding you back?”

“Hm?”

“Why aren’t you sure of which to use?”

Well, that’s an easy question. “A few are really captivating, but I kind of want to keep them to myself. Like, they’re personal? Probably too personal, and I think it’s best to keep those private. Even if they are beautiful, I mean.” Ugh, I’m rambling. I shake my head. “Well, I’ll show you what I mean.” I find the ones I’ve already selected and gesture vaguely at their icons within the folder. “These I’m definitely working on, but I don’t know what else to pick.”

Victor taps his chin, humming in thought. “Can you show me which three are your favorites?”

Easy: I open the images, one by one, and let Victor inspect them. “These.”

“Why?”

Not as easy. I puff out my cheeks before exhaling: where to begin? “Well, this first one was completely candid. I mean, I don’t think you knew I was taking the picture, but you looked really focused on your reading.” I switch to the next image. “Most people don’t see you in your reading glasses, and I liked the idea of capturing you in a different light.” The last one is just before Victor reeled me in for a make out session; his eyes are intense and his smile is, well, naughty. “I guess I just like this one because of the context.” I know I’m fiercely blushing, but I had to answer. “That, and I don’t think other people see this side of you. Well, not very often, I think?” Victor laughs, nudging me and moving closer.

“They certainly don’t.” He pats my thigh, leaving his hand there. “But I think you should go with your gut. If those pictures are worthy to you, they must have something special.”

“But…uh, are you sure?” I adjust my glasses, finally relaxing under his touch. “I’m not sure.”

“Listen to me, Yuri.” Victor turns my face to look him in the eyes, suddenly in my airspace, but expression serious. I blink, willing my heart to slow down and steady; he traces my jaw with his thumb, which doesn’t help. “You’re a brilliant artist, and you need to trust your instincts.” Not when they tell me to kiss my mentor. “You can impress me; you can impress anybody.”

He’s right: I can do this. I blink again a few times, nodding against his grip. “Okay.” With a smile, he releases me and sits back while I click away. Once I have my pieces, Victor shows me his image manipulation program, very similar to one I’ve used before. He shows me little tips and tricks to polish the pictures without making them look phony, and while keeping editing to a minimum. I’ve never used color tools so much, but sometimes a picture really does need more warmth; I see that now. I’m scolded when I try to use the healing tool, as an artistic photographer should embrace little imperfections. I get a lesson in cropping, enforcing my beliefs on negative space. Every now and then, Victor rests a hand on me, my shoulder or leg. I don’t tell him to keep his hands to himself, but I follow that rule, both hands busy with the computer. That is, until a familiar ringing sound scares the he’ll out of me. “Shit, that scared me.” I mutter, handing the laptop to its owner. He smirks, setting it on the table.

“It’s Yuri Plisetsky. Should I answer?”

“Yes, probably.” I lean against the arm of the sofa, averting my eyes.

Victor huffs, pouting, but accepts the video call. “Hello, Yura.” He waves with a polite smile. “Say hi to Yuri.” He turns the screen a bit, catching me with the computer's camera. A blonde with a dark hoodie, hood on, is scowling at me. He shouts something in Russian, and all I can do is stare. Victor scoffs, rolling his eyes. “It's not polite to speak a foreign language when present company doesn’t speak it.”

“Why would I want to say hi to this pig? I called to talk to you, dumbass!”

Promptly, Victor turns the screen away from me, frowning. “That is incredibly rude. You should show a fellow photographer some respect.” He turns back to me, shaking his head. “He's being a teenager. Just ignore him.”

“Um…I think I’ll go make a phone call.” I utter upon standing.

The other Yuri goes on, yelling words I don’t know that fall on Victor’s deaf ears. “Are you sure?”

“Have you gone deaf, old man?!” The blonde’s comment goes unheard, or at least, gets left alone and without a response. I’d rather not stay and get insulted any more than I already have been, so I nod to Victor. His shoulders fall a little, but he nods, plugging a pair of headphones into the computer, effectively silencing the other Yuri.

“Okay, but don’t be too long. There’s still work to be done.”

“Right.” I turn on my heel, Victor’s stern Russian behind me, and exit the guesthouse. I don’t really need to make a call, but I guess I can make one happen anyway. First, I text Phichit to make sure he’s available: ‘Hey, are you busy? I have time for a phone call if you do. I want to go over our plans.’ I start pacing across the lawn, wishing I’d gotten Vicchan from the backyard; he’s probably content to frolic with Makkachin, though.

Phichit replies: ‘I’ll call you in a sec!’ I hope he isn’t putting something aside just to talk to me. My phone vibrates to indicate his call. “What’s up? How are you?”

“Alright. You?”

“Pretty good. A little sad I’ll be alone soon, but then I get to see you!” Phichit laughs. He always finds a light in the dark. “Are you excited to leave?”

This is already getting closer to the issue than I anticipated. “Yes and no.”

“Yes because…?”

A small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Well, yes because I haven’t seen you in a while and I could use a drink and a bad movie from your collection.” This makes him laugh, easing a bigger smile out of me. “And no because…uh, because Victor will be gone.” He scoffs, and I can guarantee he rolled his eyes, too.

“It’s not like you’ll never see him again. I’m sure he’ll make time for you.”

Once he’s gone, he’s gone; he had a life before me and will continue to have that life after me. I sigh, knowing I can’t say this out loud unless I want to break down here and now. “He’s really busy, Phichit. He has another student, another job, another project miles away from me.”

“Uhh, Skype? And he’s your man. There’s no way he’ll be too busy for you.”

“Victor isn’t my man. He’s my mentor, my teacher. A friend, I guess.”

He snorts, no doubt smirking. “Does he fuck all his friends? I know you don’t.”

“Phichit.”

“I’m just saying! You’re obviously more than friends, or teacher and student or whatever.” I sigh, lost for words. Yeah, okay, maybe the whole teacher line was crossed, but he can’t be my boyfriend; not when he’s about to leave for bigger things. “Yuri?” I rub my eyes, willing the stinging tears to retreat. “Do you want to talk about something else?” Phichit’s voice is softer, obviously understanding what I haven’t said.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, when you get here, I’m taking you to that bar you like. The one with the bougie appetizers.” I don’t think stuffed mushrooms are particularly bougie, but I laugh anyway. “Then you can buy me a cake, and we can order in and watch stupid movies and get fat. It’ll be just like our university days, only we’ll be old enough to buy our own alcohol.” Phichit laughs at his own plans. I’ll admit, it sounds more appealing than heading straight to my cold room in my family’s boarding house. “I’ll even set up the futon for you.”

“Did you get it fixed?”

A moment of quiet separates my question from his answer, which is an adequate response itself. “It will be before you get here!” Such a Phichit answer. “We should watch a musical or two, too. That way we can sing along.”

“Okay, but just one.” I bargain, knowing I probably won’t be drunk enough for more than that.

He laughs, I’m sure rolling his eyes again. “Fine, fine. But I’m picking.”

“Deal.”

We talk more about our plans, and about Phichit’s show. His boyfriend isn’t into the whole artist scene, being more of a math and science kind of guy, but is excited to see Phichit’s work on display. I was slightly miffed about his easy success at first; now I’m just happy his talent is being recognized. Not every artist needs to go through some colossal failure to be worthy of success, and I can admit that with honesty. He tells me more about why his boyfriend has to go out of town: his cousin is graduating from something that Phichit seems to have forgotten. The subject changes when Phichit can feel my discomfort, cheerfully bringing up new topics of our pets and what’s trending on his social media feeds. Talking with my best friend is such a wonderful distraction, I don’t realize how much time has passed until my phone tells me it’s near the end of its life. Naturally, I knew I had to go back inside and face reality at some point; I suppose I didn’t think I’d feel this unprepared for it. With slow steps, I find Victor isn’t even in the living room anymore, but there’s some noise from the kitchen. He’s standing in front of the refrigerator, both the freezer and fridge doors wide open, phone in hand. The chilly air sends a shiver through me as I get closer. Victor turns, startled at first, but exhales with a nod towards the few remaining food items. “We hardly have anything in here. It’s barren, and so is my brain for ideas on what to piece together.” He stands back, busying himself with his phone. I take a peek at what’s left, murmuring an agreement on our lack of groceries. There’s still ramen around here somewhere; as long as we haven’t run out of spices and condiments, I can manage a passable meal with that. I find what I need, placing the ingredients on the counter, finally shutting the fridge doors. Victor sighs, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I have to call my agent. It might be a lengthy call, so feel free to eat without me.” I only nod in response. He kisses my cheek before leaving, footsteps quiet and unrushed.

“No distraction.” I whisper under my breath. Without him around, I quickly make the noodles with vegetables and broth; if it tastes good, my mouth doesn’t register it. The food only goes down to silence the rumbling in my gut. When I finish eating, Victor still isn’t back, so I serve him and take care of the dishes. “He can eat later.” I feed both dogs, taking them out. The clouds are looking thicker than they were earlier; maybe it will rain after all. Vicchan looks up at me, as if waiting for something. “I don’t have a toy for you, and I don’t want you out here all evening.” Not if it’s going to rain. Makkachin runs over, pressing her paws against my legs, tail wagging. “I’m going to miss you, Makka.” I pat her sides, stepping back so she can stand on her own. “I’m no good at goodbyes, so let’s just go back in.”

The dogs settle on the floor near my feet while I finish my edits on Victor’s computer. The silence only becomes too much when I’m done backing the files up and remembering that my phone is dead. Typically, Victor’s humming would fill the air, or we’d be discussing something random, like what dogs dream about and what it’d be like to live in a lighthouse. He’s in the other room, mere meters away from me, and yet I miss him. I miss him already and it hurts. “Yuri?”

I whip my head in the direction of the hall, where Victor is walking towards me. “What?”

“I said your name. Have you eaten?”

“Yeah, I left a bowl of ramen for you in the fridge.”

His eyebrows tilt, confusion or something like it, masking his normally chipper demeanor. “O-oh, okay. Thank you.” Victor nods and leaves to fetch his food. Did his call not go well? From what he’s told me, he has a great relationship with his agent, even if the two don’t always see eye to eye. When Victor returns, he sits a foot away from me, stirring his food but not eating.

“Did your call go okay?”

“It was eventful.” Victor sighs, slowly eating between statements. “Yakov wasn’t too happy at me for putting off helping Yuri. He’s just anxious to get such a young artist out in the world. But I told him I’d be back soon.” He blinks at me, exhaling. “Yuri’s at my shore house, waiting for me to help him out with his new project. Yakov also mentioned my new project, but I’m not quite finished with it.” The corner of his mouth curls up, hinting at a smile. “He sounded like he was doing well, but he always kind of sounds grumpy. I’ll have to hug him when I see him.” Victor sighs, sitting back against the sofa, abandoning his almost empty bowl on the table. “I need to ask you something, and I’d appreciate your complete honesty.” He turns to me, all trace of his earlier smile nowhere to be found. The lump in my throat doesn’t go down easily, but I blink and nod for him to continue. “All day, you’ve been…distracted? Distant? I don’t know what it is, but if I’ve done something to make you uncomfortable, or if I hurt you, I need to know so I can remedy the problem.” I was afraid I’d been obvious, but maybe Victor can read me better than I realized. “Will you tell me what’s wrong, Yuri?”

The knot in my stomach tightens, pausing my breath. I can’t let our last days be tense and strange; not with Victor. Inhaling deeply, I try my best to smile at the man I’ve grown used to spending every hour with, this clever, silly, talented, supportive, creative, charming, honest and sweet man. I can’t deny him what he deserves, especially when he’s meeting my gaze like this. I lean his direction, falling onto his lap. Instantly, one of Victor’s hands grips my shoulder, the other smoothing my hair back from my eyes; I stare at the table before shutting them. “I’m really tired, and thinking about my project has been exhausting today.”

“I know you didn’t sleep much last night.” He does? “Maybe I should read you a bedtime story from that book you like, and make sure you get enough rest.”

Honestly, I can’t think of a more considerate and cute suggestion; I find myself grinning, not even bothering trying to hide it. “I’d like that.” Curling up against him feels so relaxing, so right. “Very much.” My mind is running far too much to fall asleep now, but I feel more at ease in this moment than I have all day. “I finished my work, too, so I can sleep at a reasonable hour.”

“May I see?”

“Mhmm.” I reach over, dragging the laptop towards me. I roll to my back, bending my legs and resting the computer against my thighs. Victor turns to the screen, keeping his hands on me. When I open the first file, I look up at him. “Tell me when to go to the next one.”

Slowly, we scroll through my finished collection together in silence. Halfway through, Victor finishes his meal and tries to stand to bus his dishes, but I don’t let him; I don’t want to spoil this comfort. “Impressive.” He mumbles when we reach the very last image. I take it as a cue to exit the folder, but before I can, Victor squeezes me with a laugh. “Yuri! I’m so excited for you!” He cradles my face in both hands, hair falling over his eyes when he bends down. “I couldn’t be prouder of you, darling. You’ve done so much in so little time.” Victor’s smile is blinding; it isn’t because of its size or its intensity, though. No, it’s in the softness and the sincerity. It’s too much. I bury my face in his tee shirt, winding my arms around him. When Victor laughs, I can feel it in his belly. He hugs me as best as he can from his position, sighing contentedly. “My Yuri has so much talent.”

“Thank you.” I peer up at him, the wave of nerves from the day we met flooding back. Victor’s personality is so strong that I sometimes forget how easy he is to talk to, make laugh and smile; he isn’t out of reach at all. “For…everything, really.”

Victor cups my face with one hand, tracing my cheekbone. “I should be thanking you.”

“For what?”

There are times when I make him food and stuff, or fold his clothes when they’re in the way, and I do take care of Makkachin from time to time, but these are all things that aren’t out of my way; I don’t see the need for thanking. Victor sits up straighter, nodding towards the computer. “Would you like to see what I’ve been working on?” He asks, fending off the flush in his complexion. I agree, pulling the laptop over again, and wait for instruction. “It’s the Yuri folder.”

“That’s mine. We just looked at it.”

“The other one.” Victor smirks, holding me a little tighter than before. When I open the folder, I start a slideshow with the first image: a man turning away from the photographer, leaning against a tree with a rope swing that looks just like the one Mari made when…oh, shit, it’s me! The man in the picture is me, of all people. Before I have time to process this, the next picture pops up, the silhouette of a man with glasses that are like the ones I…wait, it’s me? Again?! My jaw drops when the following photo turns out to be me again, this time with Vicchan. I start to sputter unintelligibly, tripping over my thoughts and words in no particular order. “You didn’t wonder why I asked for your permission to photograph you?” Victor jiggles me to get my attention. I shake my head in response, staring at my own self on the screen. I’ve never seen myself look this interesting in all my years. Granted, I rarely take photos of myself, but still: is this the way Victor sees me, as mysterious and playful and deep?

“Victor.” My voice is hardly more than a whisper.

“Say anything, but don’t say you resent it.”

What? How could I resent such a breathtaking collection of pictures? It doesn’t even matter that I’m the subject; nobody can create quite like Victor. He almost looks scared somehow, like I’m really going to tell him I hate it. Does he think that I hate it? Quickly, I sit up and pull his body against mine in a hug he can’t confuse for anger. Victor’s shoulders relax after a second, arms around me to return the embrace. “I love it.”

Victor asks if I mind him sharing the photographs publicly, and I don’t. He asks if I really meant what I said about loving them, and I reassure him that I do. He tells me that it was difficult to pick just a few since he took so many, and I blush. Victor goes on to tell me that I’m beautiful and easy to photograph, and I blush even more. He says that he was worried more about his project than mine, and I laugh because his is flawless. Again, Victor asks why I didn't think he’d be taking my picture after asking for my consent, and I remind him of his past works and the lack of human subjects. I tell him that I’m flattered, and that he’s done a remarkable job. I tell him he’s the best at what he does, and I wish I could learn everything he knows. I tell him how grateful I am to have worked at his side, to help him and receive help from him. Oh, and I tell him that he should watch out for me in the future so he can remember that I’d still be stuck in a rut if it weren’t for him. Then I kiss Victor, throwing all my worries aside for the moment, and try to memorize the feeling of our lips together. I kiss him until I can hardly breathe, hardly keep my eyes open. I don't protest when Victor carries me to bed, tucking us in with that gaudy quilt on the top. While he sits up a bit, I make myself at home on his chest, inhaling that familiar scent of our detergent and Victor. As promised, he reads to me, fingers making circular patterns on my back and voice guiding me to a place where I can spend every night like this and never have to tell him goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this during a very stressful moment; I won’t bore you with the details, but I can tell you that my emotions made it easier to make this chapter more authentic, and it helped me work through them. Orz hahha Anyway, the next chapter isn’t as heavy, but the one after is heavier, so, I’m sorry? But don’t worry, this isn’t the end! Thanks for hanging in there with me :D


	17. Pack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, y’all, this chapter is mostly fluffy, but, like, definitely a little bittersweet? Well, you’ll see what I mean when you read hahha So, without further ado, I give you the seventeenth chapter ~

Why am I awake? My heart is thumping against my ribcage, eyes searching in the dark with a dull ache in my thigh, but why? I grope around for my phone, unlocking it with the screen up to illuminate the room; Vicchan and Makkachin are sound asleep on the floor, undisturbed. Maybe I simply woke up at the end of a sleep cycle, slipping quickly back into consciousness. Hm. Well, I lock my phone and lie back down with my eyes to the ceiling. Something jams into my leg, directly in the aching place of my thigh. “Ow! What the—” I don’t finish that thought: a whimpering from mere inches away puts an end to my question. I turn my phone back on, gripping Victor’s arm without much force. “Victor?” He shifts again, face twisted in a frown with a short groan. I ignore the knee to my leg, shaking him gently. I don’t know what else to do, and he’s breathing unevenly while he remains asleep. “Victor, wake up.” He claws at the bed, face shoved into the pillow. Why is he whimpering and writhing like this? “Victor!” My voice is louder than I intend, but I need Victor to wake up and be okay. He gasps, eyes popping open. He may be awake, but my pulse needs a moment to regulate. I sigh, hand pressed to my chest with the other still on his shoulder. “Ugh, Victor.”

“Yuri?” He blinks, tightly grabbing my wrist. In such low light, he looks like a frightened child, eyes wide and mouth agape. I nod, tucking his hair behind his ear.

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

Either Victor misses the shaking in my voice or ignores it. “I’m fine.” He eases his grip on me, shutting his eyes again with a sigh. “Bad dream, I guess. I don’t remember what happened, but it made it hard to breathe.” I don’t know what it is about his words, but they don’t make sense to me; I wonder if there’s something he’s not telling me. I don’t press, though, running my thumb along Victor’s cheek as he convinces his lungs to return to their average activity. He rakes his hair back, rubs an eye, holds my hand to settle himself. While I’m grateful Victor seems to be okay, I want to be able to sleep again soon. A stretch sounds like it could be beneficial, so I move to step on the floor but Victor’s grip is a vice around my wrist.

“Ouch!” I frown, confused and drowsy again.

“I’m sorry.” Victor pulls me back onto the bed. “Don’t go.”

What? It may be my sleepy brain, but I feel lost in this discussion. “What do you mean? Are you sure you’re okay?”

He exhales, looking up at me. “Yes, but I don’t…I mean, I want you to stay.”

Ah. I think I understand now. I lock my phone and turn back to Victor, settling under the covers beside him. His skin is warm under my hands, hair soft against my chest, grip tight around me. “Alright, I’ve got you.” I remind him. “I’m here.” Victor replies with a hum and a quick kiss against my sternum. He had a similar reaction when he told me about his childhood.

“Good.”

“Do you need more sleep, or something else?”

“I need you to hold me.”

Easy enough. “I think I can do that.” I exhale, allowing my eyes to shut. If Victor hadn’t kicked me awake, I’d be off in a dream somewhere. Now that I am, however, my mind is running rampant: is Victor really okay? What was his dream about? Is he thinking about tomorrow? How does he feel about leaving? Will he be able to go back to sleep? Would it be alright if I talked to him? “Victor?” I whisper after a moment of relative silence. Victor hums in response, nuzzling into my chest. Taking it as a yes, I continue. “When I first started university, I was scared of everything. I didn’t like staying out much, and I always worried I’d get lost on campus and end up late to class.” Thinking about it now sounds ridiculous, but it was the first time I’d really been away from home. “This was before I met Phichit, back in my first year, when I didn’t have a roommate. I had a class in the evening, so it’d be dark on my way back to my place. I would practically run to my room and immediately lock the door behind me, and stay in until morning.” It sounds so pitiful, but that was my reality. I sigh, resting my chin on Victor’s head. “There was nothing to be afraid of, but at the time, I felt alone. Like, really alone: no friends, no family, nobody I even recognized from classes or my building. It got to be so bad that I was losing sleep.” Victor’s hand finds mine, squeezing to remind me that he’s there; I squeeze back. “One night, I let my thoughts go to my old dreams, when I thought I’d become a photographer. I thought of all the pictures I’d take, and all the fans who’d buy my work. I thought of traveling to new places and meeting new people, all while getting to do what I love. It made me happy just thinking about what life would be like as an artist, what I could do if things were different. I mean, it didn’t change anything, but it made it easier to close my eyes at night.” He kisses my chest, where it beats, and sighs. “It might sound dumb, but that’s how I got over bad nights by myself: thinking good thoughts.”

“No, it’s not dumb in the slightest.” Victor yawns. I almost ask if he really means that, but he sounds just as groggy as I do. His breathing evens out within minutes. I listen to each breath Victor takes, every little snore, shortly finding myself slipping into slumber. It isn’t often that I remember my dreams these days, which is the case when I wake up hours later; what I’m left with is an impression, a feeling of unknown origins deeply rooted inside. I feel content, happy and safe, though I’ll never learn why. I also feel a certain someone under me, like a pillow stuck under my chin and bare torso. I use my fingers to see what’s in front of me so I won’t need to open my eyes just yet: a shoulder, a collarbone, a neck near my face. I trace the same path with my mouth, enjoying the softness against my lips. Victor chuckles, hands dotting patterns up and down my back. “Good morning to you, too, Yuri.” His voice is low and lethargic, edged with desire.

Moving further up, I nip at his earlobe while my hand runs downward, over his chest and roaming near his abs. “Why does sleep make you taste good?”

Victor laughs, fingers sliding down my back past my waistband. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about, but—” He gasps when my fingers reach their target, gripping less than gently. I finally open my eyes, peering over to catch Victor’s expression: lips slightly parted, eyes open wide, pink blush intensifying. “Someone’s eager.”

“Feels like it’s you.”

Victor tosses his head back, sinking his nails into my skin. He looks too inviting this way; it does devilish things to my brain. I attack his exposed neck with both mouth and teeth, until Victor shouts my name. My hand stutters when Victor’s fingers find their intended destination. All traces of sleepiness fade away, my breathing hard near his ear, hips reacting on their own. Victor turns his head, laughing and kissing my cheek. “Now who’s eager?” I can’t help but fall under his spell; when he touches me, I melt in his hands. I don’t think twice about hopping up on his lap when his hands grip my hips. I don’t hold back when Victor’s voice urges me to move how I want. I say lewd things right in his ear, let myself be shown on full display, move at my own pace: his magic exposes an entire other side of me, a person without doubts or fears. Everything feels good, effortless, wonderful. My skin is buzzing all over, igniting at every point of contact where Victor and I connect. To prolong this glorious feeling, I slow the rolling of my hips. Victor sits up, kissing me deeply until I’m dizzy and delirious. He cups my face, smiling sweetly. “Beautiful.”

“Kiss me again.” I mean it as a suggestion, but it comes out sounding desperate and greedy. Victor obliges, gentle at first. His tune changes when I move my hips again; then his kiss vibrates with a moan, tongue chasing mine. His name spills from my mouth when we part for air. I think it flips a switch in Victor because after that, he loses control and my mind blanks of everything but him and pleasure until neither of us can handle anymore. I’m almost as loud as Victor, embarrassingly so, and lie beside him with a sigh. My arm flops over his body, both sticky with sweat.

“Wow.” Victor whispers, wiping his hairline with the back of his hand.

“You sound surprised.”

He laughs at my weak words, pulling me closer. “I’m amazed. That’s the consequence of being with an amazing person.” He drags me so I’m partially lying on him, hands at my waist. Victor turns to the wall, suddenly frowning. “Do you hear that?” I close my eyes and drop my head on his chest: all I hear is his heartbeat.

“I hear your heart.” I imitate its sound, making Victor laugh.

“No, darling. I think it’s thunder outside.”

Wait, what?! I groan, attempting to sit up. “How are we supposed to move furniture in the rain?” Victor keeps me close, sort of sitting up, too.

“It might not be raining, but I’ll check. You stay here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t go yet.” I bring him back down to the bed. I know he isn’t trying to go far, but I’m too comfortable with him to let him leave now. “We have all day to worry about it, and I want to stay in here.” I sound so whiny, but I don’t care. Victor exhales, holding me again.

“We can, but the dogs need to be let out for a minute.”

Damn, he’s right. I roll onto my back, eyes closed, and stick my tongue out at Victor. “Fine. Let me know if it’s raining, then.” He laughs, pinching my cheek.

“Cute. I’ll be back.”

It doesn’t take long for me to drift off again, still on a high. I only become alert again when something weighs down one side of the bed, causing me to gasp and sit up. “What the—?”

“Yuri!” Victor laughs from under the hood of what I now recognize as my sweatshirt. He flips the hood down, sending a light spray of water out from it. “It’s raining now. Wanna see?” Even though they’re cold, I let him thread his fingers through mine. I want to roll my eyes at his excitement, but it’s that same enthusiasm that causes me to smile.

“I’m afraid I’m not as thrilled at the weather as you are, my dear.”

“Well, before it started, I put some things in the trailer. I hope you don’t mind.” Victor shrugs, dancing with my hands while staying at the edge of the bed. “Just some boxes and things.”

I roll my eyes this time, trying not to laugh. “Why would I mind that?” Hm; that leaves the larger furniture to move. Not sure how we’ll make this happen in the rain. My smirk becomes something of a pout, drawing out a concerned expression from Victor while his hands still. “But I don’t know how to take everything else out in this weather. I don’t want everything to get wet and be sitting in the trailer like that.”

Victor hums in thought before giving my hands a squeeze. “Weren’t there some of those waterproof things out back? I don’t remember what they’re called, but they’re bright blue. You put them in a box.”

“Oh, the tarps!”

“Can’t we use those?”

The short answer is yes, we can use them. The long answer is yes, we can use them, but we’ll get rather drenched and muddy in the process. After getting dressed in more appropriate clothes, we have to search through the boxes to find the tarps, tucked away in the main house. It’s kind of annoying to work in wet jeans and a dripping jacket, but Victor won’t stop smiling; it makes it difficult to want to outwardly complain with all that sunshine directed at me. Covering each piece of furniture right before we move it is tedious: we only have two tarps, so it takes longer than if we had one for each item. At one point, Victor thinks it’s a good idea to take the sofa to the trailer, but it isn’t until after we get it situated with the other packed objects that I remember we’ll still be here another day. “What’re we going to sit on?” I groan at the realization. Naturally, Victor grins with a brilliant idea:

“We’ll use the bed!”

He’s serious, too. I can tell from how confidently he states his plan. “Are you suggesting we’ll stay in bed all day and night?” My question is met with a humorous nod of his head. There’s no point in arguing with this; it isn’t a bad idea and Victor seems so sure of himself, so I shrug. “Okay, fine: we’ll have a lazy day.” A roar of thunder sneaks up on me; yes, I shriek like a small child and jump a few inches off the ground when it hits.

“Not to worry: we’re almost finished and then I’ll keep you safe in the house.” Victor taps his chin. “Maybe you’d like to take a few photos of the empty rooms? Though the lighting might make for ghastly shadows. What do you think?”

Since we haven’t packed our own luggage into our respective cars, our camera equipment is still usable. Which gives me an idea, but I need Victor’s permission. “Well…”

“I’m listening.” Victor hoists up his end of the coffee table with a laugh. “Lifting, and listening.”

I admit, I’m doing less work than he is, but my mind is focused on that heart-shaped smile. “Do you think I could try your camera again?” Shit, this thing is slippery under the rain; my grip falters for a second before Victor helps me shift the weight so we can get this table to the trailer. “Um, yeah, I’d like to try it out for a minute if you’d let me.” Is that convincing enough? Victor seems so focused on moving my furniture, placing it down with care. “It’s just that I’ve never worked with such…sophisticated equipment before and I think it might help me get used to using different cameras when I can afford a new one.” Ugh, I’m rambling. Victor doesn’t seem to notice, dusting his hands off and meticulously folding up the tarp in a perfect square. “Only if you think it’s a good idea.”

“Whatever you want, Yuri.” Victor looks over the contents of the trailer, nodding slowly. “I think we’ve done it! That didn’t take too long, did it?”

Well, no, it didn’t, but did he hear my question? I blink, staring at him. “Uh, not too long. So…I can use your camera and everything?” Each word comes out with trepidation, as if they might decrease the chances of Victor agreeing to loan out his belongings. He holds his hand out, wiggling his fingers.

“Sure. Why not?”

I tangle my fingers with his, raising an eyebrow. I still can’t wrap my mind around how nonchalant he’s behaving. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Victor chuckles, stepping further into the rain. He presses one hand to the curve of my back, lifting our joined hands in a dancing pose. “It’s a fine day for a waltz in the rain. May I have this dance?” Luckily, the drops are becoming less frequent and feel warm against the skin they land on. Sometimes I envy Victor’s confidence; other times, I use it to fuel my own. With a smirk, I vaguely nod.

“Only if you can teach me something new, teacher.”

Victor’s eyes brighten at the challenge, adjusting his grip on me. “I certainly know a thing or two, and I’d be happy to show you.” Before I can get lost in the blue of his stare, Victor starts a count and introduces me to the beginning steps of a tango. When he pushes forward, I move backward. He turns and takes me with him; he guides us across the lawn, too close to the trees; I follow him where he leads me, no hesitation. Even when Victor pulls me in against him, no space between us, I find myself bending to his will. I do this quite literally when he dips me. The last drops of rain hit my glasses in a mist, obscuring my vision of Victor; it doesn’t take much effort for me to decipher the gentle smile on his face, though: it’s there, and it’s for me. After a while, he stops calling out the counts and steps and our dance becomes as intuitive as breathing. “You’re rather talented at this for having no training.” Victor comments in a low voice. Beneath the trees, his words are softer while competing with rustling leaves and occasional bird calls. During our next step sequence, I manage to get even closer to my dance partner, close enough to share the same breathing space.

“Generous of you to say.”

“I enjoy spoiling my Yuri.” He shrugs, holding back a laugh. His: his Yuri. I don’t think I’ve loved the sound of my name more than I do this second. I inch my hand up his arm, his shoulder, his neck, landing at the back of his head, pulling the sweatshirt hood down. I’d like to hear him say that again, but I don’t rush to ask Victor to repeat himself. I fear it’s the only way I’ll know if he really feels that way or not, and I hate that I want the confirmation but this is our last full day together: having him want me in return fills my heart to bursting and I can’t help it, no matter how hard I try.

“Is that right?”

“Which part?”

“The ownership.” I slow our steps until we’re standing still, against a tree. Victor blinks at my words, shaking his head a bit while keeping his smile intact.

Something like a laugh leaves his lips before he answers. “Perhaps having sole rights to you is a truer definition.” He taps the tip of my nose without lingering long. “I’d never claim possession in such terms.” But what if I want to belong to Victor? I can’t bring myself to address the fact that I don’t deserve him or have any right to want these things; I’m too foolish to accept reality when I’m standing so close to Victor, his hands on me. I allow myself to be selfish, just this once.

“You could if you wanted.” I ignore the creeping blush rising to my face; Victor’s own flush makes it easy. “You have my permission, Victor.”

Victor tilts my head upward, tucking his fingers under my chin. I can hear my heart beating, almost louder than the next words he says. “I’m honored.” He slowly inches his face to mine, but it’s not fast enough for my impatient mouth. I close the distance in no time, tasting the rain on Victor’s lips. The back of my hands scrape against the tree bark while my fingers card his soft, silver hair. Yes, I’m greedy and no, I’m not trying to be gentle. Every kiss is food for my soul and if I stop or slow down, I just might cease to exist. How can a kiss be so vital, feel so necessary? It isn’t fair: learning to live without this might splinter my heart to pieces. A wave of sorrow hits me right in the gut, choking me up. “Yuri?” Victor whispers when I stifle a sob and kiss at his neck. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He doesn’t want to know what I’m thinking. No way in hell Victor wants to hear how much I’m struggling with him leaving tomorrow, driving out of my life and act as if we never met. Thunder rumbles around us, breaking me from my thoughts. I give Victor one last kiss, straining to put on a smile. “We should go inside.”

Once we get our dogs settled in a warm corner, Victor makes good on his suggestion of staying in bed for the greater part of the day, nearly tossing me to the mattress. To be honest, I’m trying to forget all about my earlier thoughts; what better way to stop being sad than to be naked with a gorgeous man? I drown my worries in his scent, his sounds; grief kept away with pleasure that seems to never end. The rain picks up again, flashes of lightning illuminating Victor’s form and mine, tangled and touching. At one point, our rhythm seems to match that of the pelting against the roof; only thunder interrupts the beat. No skin is left untouched or without kisses, lungs breathless and gasping. Even after we’re panting and sweating, we continue to give to each other, slow, tender, passionate; neither of us is ready for this to end until it does. We have to shower, dragging our feet through the process, and eventually eat. I take the opportunity of being off the mattress to take more photos: our poodles, the empty room, half packed luggage and, of course, Victor in various states of dress. He plays unusual instrumental pieces from his phone, songs with a distinct European sound to them. “Do you play any instruments, Yuri?” Victor asks from the floor. His hands are busy folding and shoving garments into one of his designer bags. I hit the shutter button several times between his question and my answer.

“Piano, but not too well.”

“Your modesty is endearing, but unwarranted. If only you had a piano here.”

I scoff from behind the camera. “Why? Then we would’ve had to move it.” Victor’s natural giggle instantly makes me smile.

“No, silly! So you could play me something.” He tosses a jumper to the air. It flutters down in a pile of knitted yarn between us. “It’s been a while since I wore that. Does the weather always change so drastically here? Rain, sun, cold, heat, rain.” Victor muses. That jumper looks terribly familiar…ah, it’s the one he wore that night we met.

Right, he asked something. I clear my throat, glad I had the presence of mind to capture the clothing in midair. “Yes, in the spring. I’ve been told it’s some of the most unpredictable weather around.”

“I see that.” Victor shoos Vicchan from off his jumper, but my dog has made a comfortable bed out of it. “This isn’t for you, Vicchan. I know I won’t be needing it for a while, but it’s still mine and I’d like it back.” Instead of getting off of it, Vicchan rolls onto his back in preparation for tummy rubs. Victor, the gentle person he is, laughs and obliges. I almost forget to take pictures, caught up in the warmth of the scene playing out in front of me. “Okay, but I expect to have it back tomorrow. I’m sure Yuri will scold me if I’m not properly packed.” I roll my eyes, humming something of a vague agreement. Victor laughs, moving to stand. “See?” He asks my dog before sending his glance my way. “Have you seen my dreadful reading glasses, Yuri? I can’t find them.”

“Aren’t they on one of your bags? The duffel looking one.” I think I saw him place the readers atop his luggage. Why he didn’t just pack them then and there is a mystery. Victor sighs and rummages through his things before lifting the glasses above his head. “See?”

He smirks, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I do see, because I don’t need these horrible things.”

“They’re not horrible. Let me see.” I gesture for him to come closer. I take the glasses from Victor, handing him mine and trying his on. The magnification isn’t enough to make me feel dizzy or sick, but it definitely isn’t my prescription.

Victor laughs, putting mine on. “You simply have a face for glasses, and it’s unfair! How do I look?” I squint to try and make out a clear image of him, but struggle.

“I…I don’t know.”

This makes Victor laugh, so much so that he has to double over and squeeze his sides. Even though I can hardly see, I snap a few shots of him with my blue frames on. He poses for some after his laughter subsides, at last switching back with me. “I’m going to make coffee. Do you want some?” Victor tosses his readers carelessly into his bag. I shake my head and step away from the tripod.

“No, but thank you.” I watch Victor leave the room, trying to get used to the sight. Hm, maybe now isn’t the time to go back to my sad thoughts; I dig my phone out of my pocket to check the time. I think Mari should be free to chat for a bit. I take a picture of the camera setup and send it to her before sitting beside Vicchan.

Mari replies: ‘Whaaaaa ?’

‘It’s Victor’s. He let me borrow his things before he goes.’ I clarify for her. Speaking of Victor, he shouts something in Russian, something I recognize as a curse. “Victor?” Slowly, I turn to the kitchen doorway. A drawn out sigh is my initial response.

“Just a spill. Shit.” Victor steps into view, gesturing for me to stay put. “I got it, don’t worry.”

I shake my head, trying not to laugh, but this man can be so clumsy! “Okay, if you’re sure.” Vicchan inches closer to my lap when my phone goes off again. My fingers tangle in his fur while I glance at the screen.

‘Wow that’s generous lol so…you’re back to taking pictures?’ Another message interrupts my thoughts. ‘For good, I mean’

What is she talking about? I told her that I had a new collection I was working on; doesn’t that show that I’m making my way back to my dream? ‘I’d like to think so.’ That summer, when I got my rejection letter, Mari never really said anything about it. I mean, she said sorry and it’ll be okay like my parents did, but when I would sit alone and wallow in my fate, she wouldn’t talk about it. Sometimes she brought me a snack or showed me a flower she’d found, but never would she mention the letter or photography. I always thought she didn’t understand what I was going through and didn’t know quite how to be supportive; Mari did try more than usual, though, I’ll admit.

‘That’s a relief XD’

‘Yes?’

Again, I’m not clear on her meaning. These days, Mari will throw a photography comment into conversation now and then, but never much. Has my moping been an annoyance to her all these years? She could’ve said something. I mean, I don’t know what she could’ve said, but I didn’t realize I was a bother. She says: ‘The whole reason I pushed for you to go there alone was so you could find some sort of peace with the crap that happened and try to get back to taking pictures’

Wait…that’s the reason she wanted me to go?! I thought she just wanted to get out of cleaning and heavy lifting! My hand leaves Vicchan and rests against my forehead; I sit there for a couple minutes, still and silent. Maybe those times when Mari ignored my situation, she wasn’t avoiding it at all. Could it be that she’s actually understood my goals this entire time? She cared enough to send me out here by myself, back to where the tragedy went down, to finally come to terms with my past. Honestly, Mari has always had her own way of doing things, but this comes as a surprise to me. I’m not even sure what to say to her now. ‘You wanted me to be a photographer again?’

‘Yuri lol you’re my brother. It was something that made you happy and I want you to be happy’

She didn’t seem too keen on Victor helping me get back to that, though, now that I think about it. ‘Why did you seem so resistant to Victor helping me, then?’

She takes her time replying. I’m sure she’s trying to sound diplomatic, or something. ‘Everyone knows you have a crush on the dude XD I just didn’t want you to get distracted and miss out on something bigger than him’ A crush; that’s one word for it. Before I knew Victor, I respected him as an artist. Of course I found him handsome and charming, but having a crush on him is a bit of a stretch. Okay, maybe not much of a stretch, but whatever. Victor walks back into the room, a paper towel enveloping his coffee mug. He rolls his eyes and sits near me.

“That was inconvenient. If this tastes bad, I’m simply throwing in the towel.” He sips from the cup, shrugging with a lick of his lips. “Taking a break?” Victor gestures at my phone.

At first, I smile; I smile because my sister cares about me even more than I realized. Then I laugh a little; I laugh because he has no idea what just transpired between Mari and me. “Uh, yeah. I was texting my sister.” I still have yet to respond. My thumbs hover over the keyboard, deciding on a proper response: ‘That makes a lot more sense now, actually. If it weren’t for him, I probably would’ve missed my chance to take pictures again. I appreciate your concern, though :) It actually means a lot to me.’ Hopefully, she won’t cringe at my sentiments. I turn back to Victor, shaking my head. “She surprises me sometimes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I adjust my glasses, pulling Vicchan onto my lap. “Mari’s not really affectionate, or vocal about a lot of things. When she’s supportive and nice, well…it’s really nice. I know I kinda bugged her when I was little, tagging along and being a little brother, but it’s good to know that she doesn’t see me as her annoying younger sibling.”

Victor smiles, setting his cup down. “That does sound nice. I bet she thinks you’re the best brother she could’ve gotten.”

Mari replies: ‘Yeah, you’re my only brother. I try to look out for you, kiddo! I’m glad you’ll be home soon :] Don’t forget to text when you’re leaving or our parents will worry’ I suspect she’s the one who will worry, but I decide not to mention it. Instead, I agree and tell her goodbye and wait for her response before pocketing my phone again. I shrug, watching Victor finish his coffee and set the cup off to the side.

“Maybe.”

Victor extends his legs, leaning over to reach his toes. “I hope I’m not sore in the morning. The last time I moved, I hardly lifted a finger.” He makes a valid point: I don’t move furniture every day, so I should probably stretch a bit, too. I return Vicchan to the wrinkled jumper and copy Victor’s movements. “The movers were surprised by how little I had.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty, I think? I’ve had the same place for a long time. I wonder if I should move.”

I have to readjust my glasses again, askew from the angles these stretches have me in. “Why would you want to move? I’m sure you have a nice place.”

“Well, it’s…it’s just Makka and me. I still don’t have a lot, and it sometimes feels empty.”

Victor’s eyes have fallen to the floor. There will be plenty of time in the future to be sad, but now isn’t the time. I poke him in the ribs, earning a short squeal. “You should only move if you know it’s what you want. It’s a pain, so think about it for a while.” Victor’s expression softens, eyes meeting mine again. He pokes me back, right in my belly. “Don’t poke my fat.”

“It’s not fat. It’s extra cuteness.”

“What does that mean?” I scoff.

“You’re too cute, and the extra cuteness needed to go somewhere and ended up here.” Victor laughs, wrapping his arms around my midsection. I laugh with him, holding him as close as I can. The rain outside has slowed to the point where I can no longer hear it. All I can hear is us, sitting together in the empty living room, with Victor’s soft singing keeping my anxieties at bay; at least, for now. Nothing can spoil this moment, not even my own traitorous thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you think we were done with rain? We’re not done with rain XD hahha I debated over the direction of this chapter many times. Considering how much of a struggle Yuri went through last chapter and what these two will go through in the next one, I think I made the right decision :3 Next week is a Victor chapter, and I’m telling you right now, it was slightly emotional to write because of the content. Get ready, I guess!


	18. Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor chapter :D This chapter was, by far, the fastest for me to write. It isn’t the shortest, either; it just kinda.. .I don’t know, came out with little effort? It isn’t a happy chapter; in fact, it’s the unhappiest chapter. I’ll explain it later, but it’s super important for the story, and it’s not here just for the sake of being here! Read on, dearest reader, and don’t worry: I won’t leave your heart broken.

As my eyes open for the first time this morning, it becomes alarmingly clear that I’m alone in this room. For a moment, I’m under the illusion that it’s still some unholy hour, but a peek at my phone tells me otherwise. I begin sitting up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, straining to make out any figures in the dim room: nothing. A quick scan of the floor yields no Makkachin, no Vicchan; not even a Yuri. My hand caresses the emptiness beside me, slightly cold; he must have left some time ago. While I stretch a bit, rain patters against the roof of the guesthouse. The thunder and lightning retreated during the night, before I fell asleep. Luckily, I didn’t have another nightmare. The last time I dreamt, I was walking through a forest with Yuri, having a lovely time. The sun was getting low, and we decided to head back, but something pulled him into the trees. I can still remember how he screamed, reaching out for me, but I couldn’t get to him fast enough. I called out for him, grasping at the air and turning up empty. In a blink, he was gone. I ran the direction he was pulled, but every time I thought I was getting close, his scream came from another direction. It was dizzying, terrifying and left me shivering when I finally woke up. To find that Yuri was safe in bed, right at my side, should’ve left me with nothing but happiness; instead, I felt frigid and afraid. This man has become vital to me, and frankly, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d have woken up alone. Something isn’t letting my stomach relax; maybe it’s reliving my nightmare, or perhaps my subconscious knows something I’ve yet to find out on my own. I’m not sure, but there’s something terribly wrong about today.

I hastily dress, putting on the only clothes I set out last night; the rest are packed in my suitcases in the living room. My fingers tremble against the fabric of my shirt as I pull it on, ice cold at the very tips. I fumble with my socks, twisting an odd way instead of pulling them on straight. I want to find Yuri, but every move I make drags on; time feels like it’s slowed down. It feels like an eternity before I reach the door, toting the last of my belongings in my arms. Instead of finding Yuri in the kitchen, I find more emptiness. Such silence makes my head feel light, full of air. The living room is empty, too, save for a plate of food nestled on my luggage. A folded piece of paper is underneath the plate, wrinkled at the edges. When I unfold it, small, precise handwriting is scrawled there: ‘I’ll be back soon. Make sure you eat.’ No greeting, no salutation. Hm. Shrugging, I figure Yuri must’ve been in a rush to write the message. He hadn’t packed last night, so he’s probably rushing to get through his own chores and tasks, perhaps even making a quick trip to town. There isn’t much food on the plate, so I get through it quickly, not tasting. I should probably wash these dishes; I’d hate to leave it there for Yuri to wash, especially since he made me food.

At the sink, I find similar dishes and additional ones from cooking. Was Yuri this busy? He must have a lot to do; he’s a fairly tidy man and this isn’t really like him. I find myself frowning, a pang of guilt hitting me. There were times I could’ve asked Yuri if he needed additional help with packing, and setting things up in the trailer. Naturally, there’s a chance he would’ve told me no, but I should have asked anyway. Then again…why would Yuri act so irresponsibly? He knows when we have to leave, yet his luggage isn’t anywhere in sight and there are still some items left around here: the microwave, some dishes, phone chargers. A sinking feeling settles inside me. I can’t pinpoint what this feeling is, but it’s akin to dread. No, I’m not looking forward to leaving, but this is different.

After the dishes are all washed, rinsed and dried, I try to calm myself down. I press my hands to the edge of the counter, shutting my eyes. “You don’t even know what you’re fretting over.” I whisper to myself. Long inhale, slow exhale. An old tune drifts from my mouth, a shaky hum breaking the silence that weighs heavily. Nothing is too far from ordinary; what am I anxious over when nothing remarkable has happened so far? “Stop…” I bite my tongue to prevent more words from spilling out. “Stop acting like…a child.” Damn my voice. I shake my head, putting an end to my speaking. I need to find Yuri. Where is he, and where are our dogs? I stop in the living room, staring at my bags. The night I arrived, I carried all my things inside without a problem; I shouldn’t need Yuri’s help to do it now. It might even be beneficial to load all my belongings in my car now, in case Yuri does need an extra hand later. Nodding at my plan, I gather my luggage and head out the door. It only takes a few steps for me to run into Makkachin, attempting to tackle me to the ground. “Makkachin! You’re going to get muddy, girl.” I roll my eyes but continue to the car, figuring I can just scrub her down later. Movement near the other car catches my eye when I finally spot Yuri. “Yuri! There you are.” My smile falters only when Yuri doesn’t smile back. “Yuri?” I shove my things in the car, turning and stepping towards him. “Yuri, darling, is something wrong?” I reach out for his hand, only to have him take a step back. Was that on purpose? Does he realize he pulled away from me? I try again, but yes, Yuri is intentionally moving out of my grasp. The pain it causes is sharp, brutal. He won’t even look at me. “What…I don’t understand. What’s going on? Are you alright?” I just need him to say anything.

“I’m fine. You have breakfast?” Yuri busies himself with a hangnail, but I know he isn’t that invested in his cuticles.

“Why are you acting this way? Like we’re strangers.” I want to be mad, offended, and tell him how cruel he’s behaving, but all I feel is hurt. We’ve been getting to know each other for over a month; are we not beyond this silly game of cat and mouse? What has that time meant to Yuri, if not a single valuable thing? And why isn’t he answering me? “Yuri!”

“We knew this day was coming, Victor.”

“The day we have to leave? Yes, I know that.”

Yuri finally looks up, meeting my eyes with his. “The day you leave.”

My heart all but stops; it hurts, like being constricted without remorse. “The day I leave? You said you have to leave, too. You told me you can’t stay here any longer.” I find it impossible to care about how whiny I sound, not when I’m in such pain.

“I’m leaving tomorrow, but…I think it’s best if you leave today.”

Please let this be a dream. I pinch myself and shake my head: this is worse than the nightmare I had because I can’t wake up from this. I can’t wake up to find Yuri curled up next to me, and I can’t make the ache inside leave. “Why are you saying this? I don’t…” A deep breath might level out my voice, might help my heart recover. “I don’t understand.”

“We can’t keep this up. You’re driving hundreds of miles that way, and I’m driving the same distance the other direction.” He rubs his forehead, sighing. “I mean, what other end could this have?”

“Not this one.” I shake my head again, desperate for him to listen. “Not this one, Yuri. We could leave together and continue working alongside each other, and we can find a way! Don’t you trust me?” Has he not heard a word I’ve said the entire time we’ve been together? I want him, to be with him; it makes sense and it was working out just fine. It’s senseless to part now when we’ve made so much progress and invested so much in each other. Can’t he see this?

Yuri sighs, avoiding eye contact again. “That’s not going to work out.”

“Why the hell not?” I do realize my voice is rising, but I have yet to care. “You’re not making sense!” I tug at my hair, frustration building.

“Victor, what’s going to happen to your career?” Yuri glares at me, hands balling at his sides. “With me, you can’t make any progress. You’ll be too caught up helping me, and your own art will suffer. I can’t leave my family, not when I’m just starting to try and make my own living. You can’t move from where you live, or you’ll be too far from the gallery you work at.” At what length has he thought about all of this? “It isn’t going to work, and you have to understand that.”

I want to ask him if he’s joking, but he looks serious. He thinks my career will suffer at his side? I can’t imagine what gave him that idea, but this is ridiculous. “Your selfishness is astounding.”

“What?”

“You’re being selfish, Yuri!” I take a step closer, no intention of reaching out for him this time. “You think you can just decide what’s best for me, and tell me what to think and feel?”

“I’m not going to let myself ruin your career! Can’t you see that I’m trying to not be selfish?”

Absolutely not. I scoff, tired of this nonsense. “No. You’ve made up your mind about something that concerns me, all on your own.” When he fails to respond, I sigh. “How could you do this? When were you planning on telling me?”

“Look, it’s not like…” His voice trails off, frowning in my face. I want to ask what he’s looking at, but he reaches a hand out near my eyes. Without much force, I swat him away.

“Don’t.”

“You’re crying.”

If asked about the last time I cried, I’d come up empty. Since leaving Russia, I don’t remember having any tears left to shed. My fingers tap at my cheek, wet with heartbreak. “I’m not happy.” I frown at his silence, betrayal beginning to set in. “You’ve made things so complicated when we could just drive off together and damn the consequences.”

“Life doesn’t work that way. Your career—”

“To hell with my career!” I jam the heels of my hands into my eyes, rubbing the tears away. “Damn it, Yuri, you’re not listening to anything I’m saying. I can take pictures any place, and Makkachin is a good girl; she’ll happily go where I go.”

“That’s the problem.” Yuri sighs. “I can’t let you throw it all away on someone you barely know.” Barely know him. After everything, the stories, the conversations, the lessons, the sex, and I barely know him? “That’s not what I—”

“No, you said it. Evidently the past month has meant nothing to you.”

Again, he sighs. “Victor, stop.”

“It’s what you’re telling me.”

“I just can’t live with myself if I take you away from your life any more than I already have! You have a life without me. You had it before we met, and you’ll have it when you drive away. In your pink car.”

I feel sick. My stomach churns with every word Yuri says. It’s becoming quite clear that I’m not leaving this place with him. I wondered if this time would ever come; thinking about it yesterday, I spilled my coffee all over the counter and floor, but I never thought this moment could happen so soon. “That’s not what I want.”

“But it’s what needs to happen.”

“Don’t you love me?”

Such words have never passed between us; I hadn’t thought it necessary. I was certain I made myself clear through my words and actions, but I’m afraid it simply wasn’t enough. Yuri stares at his shoes, shuffling a bit. “That’s irrelevant.”

“What’s more relevant than how you feel about me?”

“Reality.” It only takes one word to shatter my world. That one word takes the air from my lungs, effectively tearing apart any hope I had that this conversation would have a different ending, one I could look back on with fondness instead of agony. I tried, I truly did, to talk some sense into Yuri, but he’s not budging an inch. Nothing, not even my career, could be worth walking away from him. I feel hollow, devoid of any emotions. Numbness is an ugly, retched sensation. I blink a few times, taking a step away from Yuri. “Victor, it just won’t work out. Either you’ll start to resent me for ruining your career, or I will. I shouldn’t have let any of this happen, knowing we wouldn’t see each other again after, but…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” I whisper the word, bitter on my tongue. “You’re sorry?” I pick Makkachin up from the ground, getting mud all over myself, and drop her on the passenger side of my car. “I’m the one who’s sorry because you can’t see that I’d happily, so happily, give up everything I own just to be with you. You can’t see that what you’re doing is destroying both of us for no reason.” I pluck Vicchan from the ground, hugging him tightly. “I hope your career is everything you want it to be, I do, but I wanted to be a part of it.” Not too gently, I press the poodle into his owner’s arms after a kiss to his curly head, turning on my heel. “You should get a new camera.”

“Victor—”

What more is there to say? Our friendship isn’t enough, our love isn’t enough, our mutual interests aren’t enough; there’s nothing I can say to convince him to be reasonable. I ignore him, buckling into my car, and leave without another word. Well, another word to Yuri. “This is what’s best for me? Being miserable and sad and angry, and leaving the one person I thought I could trust with everything in me?” My words slip into my native tongue now that I’m alone. I ache. Even though Yuri was being senseless and we were yelling at each other, I ache for him. With white knuckles, I grip the steering wheel and scream. Nothing in particular, just a prolonged shout of suffering. I wasn’t left with any other choice but to drive off, yet a nagging inside wishes I did things differently. Maybe Yuri would’ve loved me back if I did something else. I find myself humming, voice breaking and struggling to carry any semblance of a tune, but I still try. Down the road, I wipe at my eyes again since there’s no stopping the waterfall. “Stop acting like a child!” I reprimand myself, glaring at the dark grey clouds that taunt me with a broken promise of rain. “Stop acting like a child, and be a man. Be a man, Victor, and never let another tear fall.” These words were originally my father’s, but over the years, they’ve been locked away as a last resort for when the darkness becomes too much for me to handle. “Stop acting like a child.” I wipe the horrid tears from my eyes. “Stop acting like a child.” I wipe at my nose, sniffling. “Stop acting like a child.” This pain is unbearable; it erupts in a loud sob, accompanied by a rush of teardrops and a wave of sickness in my stomach. I turn to Makkachin, fatigue taking over. “What am I supposed to do now, Makka? We were supposed to leave together and live happily ever after, and now I hurt in every way.” I shift my focus to the road ahead, resisting the urge to pull over and let out all my crying. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye to Vicchan, but Yuri made me leave.” If it were up to me, I’d still be begging for Yuri to listen to me, to my ideas and plans, but today has been all wrong from the start. After a deep breath, I sit up straighter and push the sobs back. “Stop acting like a child. Stop acting like a child.” I whisper, concentrating on getting to my destination in one piece.

Makkachin and I don’t speak again for the duration of the ride. Every now and then, I crack and cry again, but remind myself to act like a grown up and resume driving. I’m not hungry and I don’t need a bathroom or a rest stop; the only times I pull over are for refilling up the car, letting Makkachin out and putting a stop to my crying. My shore house has a short driveway, but it stretches on for miles with such weight on my shoulders. I find Yura’s car parked at a most inconvenient angle in front of the garage, adding to my worsening mood. I groan, dropping my head against the steering wheel; when it rains, it surely pours. A tapping on the window is the only thing that makes me lift my head again. Yura is scowling at me from beside my car, now kicking the door. “Open up, old man!” His Russian has two modes of speech: hissing and shouting. Well, English, too, I suppose. That’s just his way.

“You never change.” I mutter, throwing my door open and standing to the side so Makkachin can leap from over my seat. Yura takes one look at me, eyes scanning me up and down, a look of disgust taking over his face. “Good to see you, too?” I suggest without any particular tone.

“What took you so long to get here? It’s been a month!”

The clouds are looking very dark over the coastline; I hope with all my being that it will rain and give me something to look forward to. Sighing, I start to unpack my bags, weak and slow. “I’ve missed you, Vitya. Do you need help, Vitya? I’ll make you some tea, Vitya. I’d be honored if you’d help me learn a thing or two about photography, Vitya.” Any of these phrases would’ve been welcome, but of course they don’t come. All I get is a kick to the back of my knee. It isn’t hard, but it’s still a hostile gesture. Once inside, Yura rolls his eyes at me, folding his arms across his chest as he flops to the sofa.

“Yeah, I’m not saying any of that shit. And speaking of shit, you look like it.”

This Yuri, this blonde one, might hurt himself if he’s anything less than crass; the other, the one I’m ludicrously in love with, made me feel at home before I even knew his name. Funny how different this Yuri is from the other; it only makes me miss the shy one with more fervor. Oh, how it aches, how the pain ripples inside without relief. My bag drops to the floor with a loud thud, my own frown deepening because I really fucking hurt. “I’m fine!” I don’t mean to yell and cry, but I do; I do both, in fact. My knees give out and slam against the carpet of my living room. The pain doesn’t compare to what my heart is going through. I cover my face, hiding from Yura, and strangle my cries.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” His voice sounds both disturbed and annoyed.

“My life, Yura. What now?” I roughly wipe at my face, glaring at him. “What do I do now?”

Yura shakes his head, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t know what you’re blathering about! You’re supposed to be helping me with my project, but you’re even more useless than usual. What in hell is the matter with you?”

“I woke up this morning and I knew. I just…knew something was horribly wrong.” I rake my fingers through my hair, setting my elbows against one of my bags. “Why did I get out of bed? I should’ve just gone back to sleep.”

“Dumbass.” This word is in English. “Like sleeping in will change your fate.”

I unzip the bag, preparing to empty its contents into my dresser. It’s not set in stone how long I’ll stay here, but I’d rather not live out of suitcases again. “Maybe it would have.” Mumbling does no good with Yura: he has exceptional hearing. “When I saw him, he acted like we were strangers, like we didn’t share secrets and kisses and photography techniques only hours before.” I wipe my nose with a sniffle. Yura throws a tissue box at my head. “He said our relationship would never work out, like me being with him would somehow ruin my career and it would be all his fault. He didn’t even stop to think that maybe I have feelings, or have a say in what my future looks like.” Hearing this out loud, reliving what happened, does nothing for my morale. I wipe at my eyes and nose with a tissue, struggling to breathe like a healthy human. “I thought he loved me.”

“Why are you so fucking stupid?”

“Your sensitivity is beyond reproach.” I narrow my eyes at him, pulling out the top item from my bag. It’s larger than I anticipate, more material emerging from within. When I glance down to find out what this thing is, my blood goes cold, freezing me in place: Yuri’s quilt. I’d recognize it anywhere; each night we spent together was under this blanket. When I bring it closer to my face, I can still catch the familiar scent of us; I find it’s both comforting and tortuous. I hear Yura sigh, and start to comment on something, but bury my face in the quilt, feeling a torrent of tears returning, spilling down my face. The quilt is a poor substitute for a tissue, but it makes a great hiding place from reality; under this blanket, Yuri still loved me. I lean backwards to the point that the back of my head hits the floor, painless in my sorry state of numbness. I wonder if it’s possible to drown in one’s own tears.

A kick to the ribs produces a quiet grunt, but I don’t move. “You’ve gone from idiotic to scary. Would you stop it?” When I remain in place, Yura sighs and tugs at the blanket.

“Don’t!” I pull it from his grip, sitting up again. “What’re you trying to do?”

“You’re freaking me out!” He shouts in English. “Now stop acting like an idiot and use your head, for fuck’s sake, so you can be normal and teach me something.” I hug the blanket, watching Yura flop back on the sofa with a huff. “You make things so complicated for no reason. Both of you. He must be an even bigger fool than you.”

“Watch your mouth.”

Yura rolls his eyes, but moves on. “I mean, why don’t you just call him and talk it over like an adult?”

“Weren’t you listening? His mind is made up.”

“But so is yours.” He makes a good point, there. “You’re both so dumb that you don’t realize you’re saying the same thing and have the same stupid feelings.”

The tears have slowed to a trickle. I mob up my face with another tissue, shaking my head. “You don’t understand this kind of love. I’d do anything for him, even give all this up.” I gesture around us at my spacious house. “Anything for him.”

“You really are deaf.” Yura pulls his hood over his head, playing with the drawstrings. “He knows that, and that’s not what he wants. Why can’t you do both?”

“I said I could.” Didn’t I? Yuri must know that I don’t want my old life, the one he thinks I’m giving up: I want a new one with him. Perhaps he doesn’t get this, or hadn’t thought about it in such terms. I look back up at Yura, shrugging. “What am I supposed to do?”

He scoffs. “Uh, you could try talking to him like a functioning person. Think you can do that?”

I shake my head slowly. “I…I never got his number.”

To this, Yura laughs, tossing his head back. When he smiles, he’s pretty adorable, but he never permits anyone to see him that way. He pauses his ridicule long enough to send a smirk my way, blonde hair covering one of his bright eyes. “I almost can’t believe you’d forget something so important, but that’s exactly the kind of person you are.” Even though I’m still upset, I can’t argue with him; I once went to my car in the garage, filled it with luggage and Makkachin, sat down at the wheel only to realize I’d forgotten my keys. “You don’t have any way to contact him? What was your plan?”

Well, things didn’t go according to my plan. I set my phone on the coffee table, which Makka sniffs at. “I didn’t think I’d be leaving without him.”

Yura clears his throat, leaning back. “Fair enough.”

“His sister spoke with me a couple times, so I have her number.” Maybe I could ask her for some Yuri information. Then again, she warned me not to hurt her brother; she might hate me when she finds out what happened, regardless of who got the last word in before I left. I stare at my phone, hating this reality more and more with each passing second. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.” Yura snickers. “I’ve never seen you act this way. Can’t wait until it’s over.” He points at the phone. “If you explain what happened to her, maybe she can help you out and put an end to this bullshit and we can get on with our lives.”

“Will she?” I can only hope he’s right. If so, I have a very long drive to make.

He shrugs, standing and stepping towards the kitchen. “Maybe. Actually, why am I helping you?”

I move over to where he’s standing and nod once. “Because we’re practically brothers, and that’s what family does for each other.” The irritated look on his face is rather satisfying, but I think I can do better. I wrap my arms around his legs, causing him to stumble but rendering him unable to walk away. I squeeze tighter, ignoring his shoving, until Yura falls to the floor with a growl.

“I hate you.” He sighs. “So fucking much.”

His words don’t sting; after all, he doesn’t struggle further. I smirk, releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding. It feels good to smile, even a little. “My goodness, I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there’s that. If I told you I cried a little while writing this, would you believe me? Hahha I really wanted to draw from the anime, and I put my own spin on it. I mean, we don’t get to see what went down after the hotel conversation in the eleventh and twelfth episode; how did they interact after that bomb was dropped? Of course, my take on it is different because of this context, but I can assure y’all, this isn’t the end! There’s one more chapter, then a bonus chapter that’s very different from the others. Stay tuned and try to hang in there until next week’s update XD


	19. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is the last chapter before the bonus one, which will conclude this story. The formatting and pace is quite deliberate, and I hope you enjoy!

Well, I must look a sight on Phichit’s welcome mat: messy hair, crooked glasses, wet poodle in my arms, muddy shoes, wrinkled jacket. Even if I wasn’t about to see my best friend, I don’t care who sees me this way. My bloodshot eyes and red nose are probably an eyesore, but I sincerely lost the desire to care, even a little. All the energy and strength has left my body; instead of knocking on the apartment door, I let my head fall against it with a dull thump. Phichit told me to text him when I was at his place, but my phone died after texting Mari that I was leaving. I didn’t get a chance to see her reply before the battery depleted. “Be right there!” Phichit calls from inside. I sigh and Vicchan licks my chin; best friends always know what to do. “Is that you, Yuri?” He asks while opening the door. I fall against him, his hands keeping me upright. “What the—” Phichit grips my shoulders, frowning. “What happened?” I don’t answer him, letting Vicchan down on the charcoal grey carpet. As for myself, I toe my shoes off and collapse face first onto the chaise. I helped him pick it out, so I think I can crash on it whenever I feel like it. “Long drive?” Phichit sits on the mismatching recliner nearby; I know because that’s where his voice is coming from, otherwise, I can’t see a thing. My glasses press uncomfortably against my face and Vicchan climbs up on my legs, but I remain silent and still. After a moment, Phichit laughs awkwardly. “Okay, Yuri, you’re starting to worry me. Can you please say something?”

“He’s gone.”

“What?”

I turn my head so my words don’t get caught against the upholstery, shutting my eyes tight. “He. Is. Gone.”

At that, Phichit shoves my legs aside and sits on the end of the chaise. “I can’t help you if you don’t give me more information, hon. Who’s gone?” He drags Vicchan off me, presumably to hold in his arms. He may have his own pets, but mine is hard to resist.

“Victor.”

“Well, you said he’s busy. It’s not like you’ll never see him again, right?” Phichit scoffs with a little laugh at the end. The silence I leave him with is enough of an answer, I think; if not, then my new tears surely suffice. He gasps, placing a hand on my calf. “Oh, Yuri, what happened?” I reach backward, blindly, until Phichit grabs my hand with a firm squeeze. “Maybe talking about it will help. I’m all ears.”

It takes a minute or two for me to compose myself enough to form coherent words, which retell the events of yesterday morning. By now, I’ve taken my glasses off and moved so that my head is near Phichit’s leg while he rubs circles on my shoulder. Vicchan is in my arms, not allowed to go anywhere until I’m no longer in need of cuddles. “And then he drove off before I could even thank him for all his help, or tell him how much I’m going to miss him.” I hiccup, wiping my nose on my jacket sleeve. “He was mad, and it’s all my fault. I should’ve told him earlier, but I didn’t want to ruin our last days together. He probably thinks it was some big mistake, or something.” I knew separating would hurt Victor, but I didn’t expect it to be on bad terms; I’ve never seen such betrayal in someone’s eyes before. I mean, I made him cry. Phichit sighs, patting my arm a few times. “I didn’t want to hurt him, but what else could I do? He’d never be happy with me here. He’s at the height of his career, and I can’t take that away from him. I…I care about him too much to do that.”

“You love him, Yuri.” Phichit muses softly. “It’s more than caring about Victor. If you didn’t love him, you wouldn’t be reacting this way or felt the need to try and protect him.”

Just hearing my feelings spoken out loud sends me into another bout of sobbing. I know, and have known for some time, that what I feel for Victor is much more than what I’ve told him. Saying it out loud would have only made it worse, I think, and more difficult to leave. “Phichit, I’m so sad.” I whine. “I don’t think this will ever go away.”

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it’ll get better.”

“No it won’t.” I shake my head. “He hates me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Phichit manages a quiet chuckle, poking me in the forehead. “He didn’t fall off the face of the planet, silly. You can always send him a message if it’ll make you feel better.”

“And say what? I’m sorry I ruined everything, but if I didn’t do it now, it would’ve happened sooner or later anyway?” Ugh, that sounds terrible; I sound like a terrible person. “It would’ve never worked out, but it still hurts. And I hurt him, too.” I almost wish he’d never shown up in my driveway; I’d never know what it feels like to have my heart filled to bursting, then smashed to pieces beyond reconstruction. I swipe at my eyes only to have more tears spill out.

“What makes you say it wouldn’t work out?”

I groan, covering my face. “Weren’t you listening? I know Victor; if he came with me to the boarding house, he’d put his photography on the back burner to try and help me and eventually resent me because it’d be my fault for taking him away from his life.”

Warm hands pull mine away from my eyes. I peer upward to meet Phichit’s stare, leaning down to see me. “I think you need to give him a little more credit than that.”

“If it wasn’t that, it’d be something else. He owns multiple homes, a fancy car, expensive things; how could he settle for a mundane life with me? He’d get bored and—” I don’t get to finish my thought when Phichit starts to shake me. Like, violently shakes me by the shoulders. Vicchan scurries away from us, off to safety. “What’re you doing? Stop! Stop shaking me!” I swat his hands away, sitting up. I find my glasses and put them on so I can properly glare at Phichit. “What the hell was that about? Are you trying to erase my memory?”

He folds his arms over his chest, rolling his dark eyes to the ceiling. “I’m trying to shake some sense into you! You’re doing that thing you always do when you’re happy with something.”

“What thing?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” Phichit smirks, arching an eyebrow. “You have so many good things going for you, but you fixate on, like, one negative and a thousand imaginary negatives, and then you lose sight of what was good in the first place.” He places a hand on my shoulder, expression softening into a small smile. “Look, I know things may not have gone perfectly with Victor, but you’re both still around. You have all the time in the world to make things right with him, be it as friends or lovers or whatever.”

It is true: I can figure out some way to contact Victor and at least apologize for how things happened, but there’s no way things can be what they once were. My shoulders fall on an exhale. “Okay.”

“Repeat after me: the world hasn’t ended, and I can still make things better.”

“The world hasn’t ended, and maybe things will get better.”

Phichit shakes his head. “You’re not going to let things happen and cross your fingers; you’re going to make things happen because you control your life. The world hasn’t ended, and I can still make things better. Go ahead.”

“The world hasn’t ended.” I sigh, adjusting my glasses. Phichit gives me a smile of encouragement, nodding once. “And I can still make things better.” He pulls me in, embracing me around the arms. It takes a second, but I return the hug. Honestly, where would I be without Phichit? Life may throw some complete bullshit my way and nothing will ever be perfect, but I’ll always have my best friend around to hug and help me through it all.

“If I know you, and I know I do, you’re probably starving. Let’s get ready to go out and just relax.” Before I can protest, he holds his hands up in surrender. “You don’t have to have fun, even though I’m sure you will since you’ll be with me, but it’d be good to be brave when you feel the most scared.” He eyes my jacket, frowning. “We’ll definitely have to put you in a new outfit. What’re you wearing, anyway?” Right, I’m still in my jacket; I hadn’t thought to take it off after entering the apartment, too caught up in my unhappiness. I unzip it, revealing the knit garment I’ve been wearing since last night.

“Victor’s jumper.”

I found it crumpled in a corner, where Vicchan left it after using it as a bed the previous evening. When I made the discovery, I turned to the road Victor drove off on and cried into the yarn. Phichit presses his lips together, standing and offering a hand. “Okay. Let’s get you changed.”

Essentially, I’m a ragdoll under Phichit’s hands: he tosses clothes at me, attempts to style my hair, puts on weird makeup stuff that’s supposed to even out my complexion, hands me my contacts and pockets my glasses. There’s no use in arguing with him on any of these things; we are not leaving the apartment until he’s satisfied with how he’s fixed me up. I learned this years ago and I don’t expect it to change any time soon. The last thing Phichit does before we leave is hand me one of my cameras. When I give him a look, one that expresses enough confusion, he holds up his sketchpad with an excited smile. Again, I don’t question him further and let him drag me out the door to the bar down the street and over a couple blocks. We manage to find an empty booth and settle in for the evening. The first couple of drinks take me a decade and a half to actually drink, leaving me with the slightest relaxed feeling. I’m still sad and the pain hasn’t magically vanished, but it’s subsided enough for me to smile more often. Phichit tells me about his students and which projects he believes to have potential; he tries really hard, I know he does, but he has a couple favorite students. He doesn’t treat them any differently, but he holds their art to a higher standard than others. The next couple of drinks leave a dark cloud hanging over me. Our appetizers start tasting irresistible, and I begin to feel the sting of tears in my eyes. Phichit lifts his sketch pad, scribbling with his pencil across the page. When I ask what he’s doing, he explains that he’s sketching me, turning the book to show me. So far, I look like a rough outline. I lift my camera up and start taking pictures of him while he’s capturing me capturing him. The concept makes me laugh; laughing feels good, so I allow myself to laugh more. It reminds me of when Victor and I traded glasses, and he laughed and laughed as I took his picture. I wish we had more time together, learning from each other and laughing like we did that night. My laughter fades when I think about how happy he looked then; he had no idea what the next day would look like for us. I lower my camera, sadness taking over again. Phichit asks our waiter for the check.

I let Phichit drag me behind him to get to a bakery, out into the rain. A warm drop on my nose stops me in my tracks; it feels…new, but familiar. It wasn’t long ago that I hated being drenched by the rain, uncomfortable in wet clothes, but when I close my eyes, I hear it: the rhythmic beating of drops against the sidewalk, strangers’ umbrellas, streetlights and awnings. Footsteps and rustling jackets and stepping in puddles. It really is wonderful, just like Victor said. Why couldn’t I hear it when we sat together, or when we danced amidst thunder? Under the rain, I can almost feel Victor with me; I don’t want the sun to shine any time soon.

In the apartment, I make myself as comfortable as I can on the futon while Phichit puts on a musical and serves us unhealthy slices of cake. When we were at the bakery, he seemed to favor a somewhat expensive cake, but asked me to buy him a cheaper one; I reminded him we were celebrating his accomplishments and paid for the former. We focus more on the dessert than the movie and end up finishing the entire cake, eating right off the platter. When the movie ends, Phichit puts on another one and sings along with the actors. I’m sure he’d make fast friends with Victor; I can see the two singing loudly and dancing around the room, trying to convince Phichit’s boyfriend and me to join them. While the mental image makes my heart flutter, it also breaks it to pieces. The last thing I remember before falling asleep is wiping frosting from my lips and recalling that I’d eaten about half a cake and Phichit didn’t try to stop me: he ate the other half. Who could ask for a better friend?

Getting out of bed proves to be a challenge. I woke up during the night, more times than I can count, and didn’t get a solid block of sleep whatsoever. I try to sit up and answer Phichit’s questions about breakfast and giving me a ride home, but I’m having trouble keeping my head up and my eyes open. Phichit thinks I’m hungover, even though I didn’t drink enough for that. He insists I gulp down several cups of coffee to sober up and I don’t have the energy to argue with him; that, and Phichit makes a great cup of coffee. If he ever finds himself struggling financially, he could surely moonlight as a barista. While drinking my third cup, my eyes wander to the window: it’s no longer raining. I sigh, resting my head on the table, eyes shut. It isn’t because I’m tired, hungover or upset about the rain. It’s from the emptiness inside. I can eat another cake, drink a whole pot of coffee, snuggle Vicchan another eight hours and hug Phichit until my arms give out; nothing is filling the space Victor left behind. “Do I have to go home?” My voice only sounds vaguely familiar, groggy and raspy. Phichit pats my back with an exhale.

“Your family misses you. You can decide if you’re ready to go back to work and stuff later, but you should at least stop by.” I look over at him, a soft smile on his lips. “You’re always welcome here, anyway, if you need more time.” A simple nod is my response; my body feels too heavy and tense for anything more. I know in my heart that I need to go home, but if I’ve ever felt unready to resume my life, now would be that time.

The drive to my family’s boarding house isn’t too long, especially with Phichit singing with the radio; it makes me frown less, so the time seems to pass faster. When I glance out the window of his car, I glare at the dark clouds that tempt, but withhold, rain; things were better in the rain. I sigh as quietly as I can so as not to disturb my friend’s singing, wanting so badly to be distracted by something. Unfortunately, he notices me staring out the window on a lengthy sigh and pinches my arm. The look he gives me is one of both sadness and sympathy; Phichit understands why I’m upset, but I can tell he also feels a bit sorry for me. I shake my head, rubbing the spot he slightly twisted. “I know that I don’t need him to be happy, Phichit.” My fingers comb my hair away from my face before I continue. “It’s like with Vicchan: he wasn’t always with me, and I don’t need him to be happy but he makes life…I don’t know, easier? Better?” I sigh again, turning away. “I guess maybe I’d forgotten what it was like to wake up excited for the day, excited to just make a cup of tea and take pictures.” Victor reminded me of the things that make me happy, but being around him also made me happy. “I’m not sure how I’m going to move on from that.” Or if I want to.

“Maybe you don't have to.” Phichit shrugs. “I mean, you know how to contact him.” He turns to me, dark eyes stony. “I’m not guaranteeing any kind of relationship, but I think you both care about each other enough to be civil and turn things normal again at the very least. I think it’ll do you good.”

At first, I don’t know how to respond. Yeah, he makes a valid point, but I can’t simply ask Victor to be my friend. I don’t want him to only be my friend, or mentor; not anymore. I settle for nodding with a simple: “Okay.”

Phichit finds a parking near the building, feeding the meter while I hold Vicchan on a short leash and stare at the multi-story home. Growing up here, I was surrounded by people who cared for and loved me; many of them are still here, and for that, I’m grateful: I’m going to need all the support I can get on my newest journey of starting my career and standing on my own two feet. The warm red bricks have been home for so long, a slight wave of comfort envelopes me as I crane my neck to see the entire building. Knowing I can come back here, come back to welcoming arms and genuine kindness any time, reminds me that I can leave as far as my feet will take me: it'll all be here when I return. A tap on my shoulder interrupts my thoughts, jarring me to turn to Phichit. He loops his arm through mine, gesturing at my home. “Ready to go back in?” He asks with a small, sweet smile. After I nod, his smile grows, grip tightening on me. “Everyone is so excited to see you! Come on.” He pulls me with him, Vicchan leading us now that he's in familiar territory.

I don’t bother knocking, unlocking the door myself. I gesture for Phichit to go ahead of me only to have him push me forward. Fine. With a sigh, I take one step over the threshold before falling backwards: a large poodle leaps at me, tail wagging. Luckily, Phichit caught me under the arms because I can’t move a single muscle, staring as the dog bounces around with Vicchan. “What?” Is all I manage to squeak out. Phichit helps right me, shaking his head and hanging up our jackets.

“Um, that looks like Victor’s dog, but you said…you said he went home, or whatever.”

“He did.” I'd recognize this dog anywhere: it’s undoubtedly Makkachin, donning one of her designer collars and a canine grin. She runs out of the front room, and I follow her, taking Vicchan and Phichit with me. How did this dog get here, in my house? The room almost feels like it’s spinning below me, tilting in all directions, until we get to the sitting room: then, everything stills. My parents are at the coffee table with a couple of our tenants, playing a game I hate; Mari is busy on her tablet, on a chair like another of our tenants; on the sofa, under a quilt I know too well, is Victor, sleeping soundly. Why do they all look so comfortable, like they spend every afternoon this way? How did Victor get here? Why is he here? I don’t notice my hands come up to cover my shocked expression or the leash falling from my grip, but the sound of it hitting the floor draws attention. My mom rushes to greet me, quietly hugging me with Phichit squeezed into the embrace.

“I’m so glad to see you!” She whispers, then thanks Phichit for bringing me.

“It’s no problem!” Phichit beams.

“You both must be hungry. Will you stay to eat with us, Phichit? Are you hungry, Yuri?” Yeah, I’m not quite there yet; I’m more concerned about what this fucking man is doing in my house! I choke on my words, gesturing silently in Victor’s direction. My mom looks baffled, staring at me before heading to the kitchen. Mari walks to us, pointing over her shoulder at Victor.

“This one’s been here for a couple days. He hasn’t slept much, so we decided he could nap whenever.” Again, she acts like this is typical, like Victor’s a fixture around here.

I shake my head. “Couple of days? Why…what is he doing here?”

Mari smirks, crossing her arms. “He said when he left, he forgot something.” If he thinks he’s getting this jumper back, he’s gravely mistaken, and yes, I’m wearing it again. I resist the urge to charge into the room and wake him up, deciding to greet my dad and the others before they leave. I lean down against the arm of the sofa, near his legs, and attempt to catch my breath. Seeing Victor in my house worsens the ache in my chest, speeds my heartbeat up, opens the floodgates of my eyes. I do my best to wipe the tears away, reaching out to see if this man is actually here and not a twisted hallucination my brain produced to torment me. My hand rests on his knee, more of a concept than an actual touch; it’s enough to cause his ocean eyes to flutter open, though, catching my gasp in my throat. He sits up straighter, blinking, jaw dropping. His eyes fall from mine, stopping at my midsection. An intense heat rushes to my face, painting my embarrassment, until my eyes fix on the blanket wrapped around him. When I get the nerve to return Victor’s gaze, I notice the pinkness of his complexion must be similar to mine.

“Yuri?” Victor’s voice is only a whisper, unsteady and faint. Mine is completely gone, so I merely nod. He reaches for my hand. His fingers are timid, slightly warm on mine; I’m scared of what I might regret if I don’t respond, but equally terrified of a possible rejection if I do respond. Victor sandwiches my hand in both of his, eyes glittering my direction. His mouth opens to speak, but shuts just as quickly. I exhale, moving closer.

“Victor, I…” Ugh, there are so many things I want to say, but none of them seem appropriate. I’m sorry? I’m afraid of ruining what we had? Maybe I was wrong? “You’re here.”

Not exactly what I wanted to say, but I suppose it’s an acceptable start. A little smile accompanies Victor’s short laugh. “Yes, I am.” His eyes search mine as I sit beside him. “I had to find you again and I couldn’t go back to the house, so…here I am.”

He came all this way for me. The only reason he’s here is for me. “I didn’t want you to go, but I couldn’t let you stay.”

“You don’t always have to worry so much, you know.” Victor’s eyes slightly narrow. “You’re not the only one involved in this. This is my life, too. I willingly stayed with you in that house and I chased you to this one…”

I shake my head before he can continue. “I can’t let my selfish wants get in your way. I could never forgive myself if you stopped taking pictures, or if you focused too much on my career instead of yours.” I wipe at my eyes, ignoring the tears as best I can. “I don’t want to ruin anything. I'm scared of making you resent me.” It’s not easy to explain and I’m sure I’m doing a horrible job; the words keep coming out, though, so maybe he’ll understand eventually. “I know you, and how much you want to help me, but I don’t want to risk your success for anything. I know you’re still going to improve and do incredible things, but I don’t think you can if I’m in the way.”

“You don’t think I can balance my work with yours?”

“I don’t know.” There’s more on my mind than just that; I can’t hold it in anymore. “If you help me too much, you might stop working on your own projects, and you’ll probably start to resent me for it. I can’t possibly keep your interest when you have so much more to focus on.”

A flash of hurt crosses his face before he shakes his head. “Was the past month not proof enough? Being in your presence is a delight, not a chore. You inspire me to work harder, and that’s not going to change.” I suppose he has a point, but a month isn’t long enough to know what a future with Victor will look like. If I could know for sure that everything would be okay, I’d run away with him in a second, but I can’t know that. Neither of us can. Victor reaches out, wiping the skin beneath my glasses. “If I tell you what I want, will you tell me what you want?” I nod for him to continue, curious about what he’ll say. He smiles, eyes uncertain and dark. “I want both of us to find success in what we love to do, and I want us to do it together. We’ve done it before, and I know we can continue if we try.” Okay, now I can’t ignore my tears or the fact that I’m crying; I cover my face, leaning into Victor. My shoulders shake, silent sobs in his arms. “Oh, Yuri.” Victor wraps the blanket around us, pulling me to him. The feeling is so familiar, the scent so comforting, I have no choice but to hug him back. “Darling, it’ll be okay. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay, but if you truly want me to leave, just tell me now and I’ll go, and we’ll never discuss this again.”

That sounds like the absolute worst idea he’s ever fucking had. I bury my face in his shirt, wrapping my arms tightly around him. “Don’t leave!” I sound muffled, but I’m sure my words are understood. “I never wanted to let you go, but I just…I put my art to the side for so long, and I don’t want to risk seeing it happen to you because of me. I’m terrified of something like that happening, and for what? Who am I to take anything away from you?”

Victor strokes my hair, rubbing my back with his other hand. “You’ll take nothing from me, unless we walk away without talking this through. What do you want?”

I hope he doesn’t mind me blubbering all over his shirt. Wiping at it does nothing, so I swipe at my face with a sniffle and look up at him. “I’m sorry about your shirt.” My arms drop, hands wringing near my lap. “I’m sorry about a lot of things.”

“Yuri, please tell me.” Victor cups my face in both hands. His eyes are the same ones I saw when we shared a smile over one of my old books, danced across the kitchen floor, ran through the rain, played truth or dare, swam in the lake, strolled through town, stayed in bed through mornings, sock skated in the main house, took many, so many, photographs together. These eyes anchor me, send me reeling and remind me of how much I trust Victor. “Whatever you ask of me, I’ll do, but I’ll always know that I have no regrets; I'm not afraid of taking a chance with you. There’s nothing about feeling accepted and cherished by someone so special that scares me, and you have nothing to fear if I’m beside you. What would you like of me?” Is it possible to feel certain of something while also being gripped with fear over that same thing? Victor is somehow dousing my concerns as if they hardly existed; yes, this is what trust feels like: letting someone take you by the hand and taking a giant leap into the unknown, knowing they won’t let go. I nod, gripping one of his wrists with what little energy I have left.

“I'd like…I want you to, please, stay with me.” I choke back a sob, nodding. “Please. Stay with me, and help me grow as a photographer, and as a person.” Of course I want Victor the artist to lend a hand when I need one, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want Victor my dear companion to stick around even more. “And don’t stop reaching for your own goals, either. Promise me you won’t end up like me, and you’ll never stop trying.”

He smiles, warm like a nearby star, as if he’s never heard sweeter words spoken. It melts my heart, fusing the pieces back together again. “I promise.” When Victor kisses me, I don’t feel so empty anymore. He’s right here, in my arms: I don’t need to worry about if he’s sad or lost or if I’ll ever regain the courage to share my photos with the world. We don’t have a solid plan, I’m not really sure what we’ll do next and only time will tell if both of us are crazy or brilliant for being together, but that’s okay. All I need is right here. “I’d love nothing more.” Victor presses his forehead to mine when he speaks, before going in for another embrace. This one lasts longer, and I’m not the only one with tears in his eyes.

We lose track of time, eventually called to the dining room when it gets dark. Phichit does stay for dinner, but excuses himself before it gets too dark out. He gives me a hug, and tells me what I need to hear: be happy. While he chats with Victor, Mari explains that she gave our address to a wailing man over the phone. I thank her for being the best sister I could ask for and manage to steal a hug. My parents tell me that Victor has been a joy since his arrival. Well, after they tried to reassure him that things would work out alright and he managed to stop bawling. My dad says he’s clever and helpful, and suggested a renovation of the courtyard would help people smile more after spending hours with Makkachin there. My mom says he’s sweet and hardworking, which, obviously, means that he’ll make a great son in-law one day, and, obviously, I could not turn a deeper shade of red. Getting ready for bed is second nature for Victor and me; we’ve showered and brushed our teeth side by side many times, so sharing the bathroom is routine. Sleeping in separate rooms, however, does not come so easily. I remind Victor that it’s proper to stay apart while under this roof, but he says he missed me too much and holds his door open for me. We end up discussing this in the hallway, across from each other in our respective rooms, until my sister shouts at us to just sleep in my room and shut up already. I laugh at how fast Victor runs over, nearly slamming the door behind him. We settle under the covers, the quilt on the very top, and breathe into the other's embrace. Relative silence falls over the bed, save for my ticking clock and our dogs getting comfortable on the rug. Last night was one of my shittiest sleep experiences, topped by the previous night: minutes of restless slumber between crying in several kinds of pain; I’m sure this one will be better, and for that, I’m grateful. I turn Victor’s head to gain easier access to his mouth, kissing him softly. Our lips stay locked, gently, until the damnable need for air interrupts us. “Thank you.”

Victor smiles, pushing my hair from edging into my eyes. “For what?”

How do I begin to properly explain? I kiss him again, savoring every second of contact. “Being here, with me.”

“It’s my privilege.” He shifts his body over mine and leaves a trail of lasting kisses across my mouth, jaw, down my neck. “Wherever you go, I want to go.” Victor’s lips burn against my chest, fire intent on marking my skin. His hair slips through my fingers, my grip finding a home at the base of his neck, his shoulder. “Come with me to my house on the shore.” Every word lingers on my skin, Victor’s mouth moving to every part of me that earns both a physical and vocal response. “We can work, play, enjoy ourselves, each other.” I dig my nails into his shoulders when he finds a particularly sensitive spot near my hip, breath hitching. “We won’t have to worry about separating this time.” Victor kisses back up my body, taking his time when he reaches my mouth; I don’t want to be away from this taste, this sensation, again. My legs wrap around his waist, lazy but deliberate.

“Yes.” I nod, pressing our bodies together. “Yes, please.” The way he looks at me almost takes me by surprise; I mean, I know he cares a lot about me, but it’s scary yet safe and sweet and sensual and it makes my heart stir. The desire to be even closer doesn’t overtake either of us. Every touch, kiss, movement is drawn out, intense and laced with care; it’s exactly what I need after spending time away from Victor. Everything feels right, feels like heaven and home. He takes his time with me, silently agreeing to make this last; it feels like so much time passes in Victor’s arms, under his touch, but every second is bliss. Panting, out of breath, I ask for more of him, letting myself be a little greedy. Victor doesn’t mind, indulging me just as much as he indulges himself. I capture his moans in kisses, muffled by my own, in an attempt to keep him quiet. Hearing my name spoken like that, against my lips, sends a shiver through my entire body.

“My Yuri.” Victor whispers on my mouth before overwhelming me with a deep kiss. It’s all it takes to send us tumbling over the line between pleasure and ecstasy; this feeling of being whole is one I can get used to. We keep our bodies pressed together for a while, neither of us wanting to move. I like feeling his heart beat so close to mine; it’s wonderful. He eventually rolls over so that we're both on our slides, eyes locked. “I’ve never met someone so incredible.” While I don’t necessarily believe all of Victor’s flattery, this comment makes me smile. I wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead with an exhale.

“Same for you, Victor. You came all this way.” 

“I would’ve travelled anywhere if it meant finding you.”

It wasn’t a short drive, either. He travelled twice as far since he was on the coast, but I think it was worth it to him. I was told that he’d forgotten something when he left, and I’d hate for him to forget it again when we head back to his place. “That reminds me: you told my family you forgot something.” Why is he blushing? “What was it?”

Victor laughs, covering his face with one hand. “I did say that. I was absolutely broken.”

I push his hand aside to see him clearly, curiosity piqued. “So what was it?”

It’s not often that Victor looks bashful, but this is one of those times. “You.” Of all things he could say, that one word is not what I’m expecting. I should know better by now; Victor can be tragically romantic to the point that he even finds himself embarrassing. I manage to keep my laugh quiet, but Victor rolls his eyes anyway. “You’re laughing at me? My Yuri is so cruel!” When my laughter fades, his thumb runs across my cheek, fondness in his eyes. “How will I ever recover?”

Boredom is not a concern with this man, and, luckily, neither is devotion. Life won’t be anything typical with him, but at least I know he’ll be by my side. I kiss Victor, knowing I could never tire of the gesture, and smile. “Trust me, you’ll find a way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A’ight, there we have it! So we know that Yuri’s perception of reality is different from actuality; he genuinely thought he was doing the right thing, but felt awful about it. I mean, who likes falling on a sword? Anyway, I just wanted to explain that I wasn’t trying to be angsty just to be angsty! I wanted to show growth, but also conflict/resolution in their relationship, like in canon. Next week’s update will be the last for this fic! I’m excited for it, and hope y’all will like it :D


	20. MT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last update for this fic :o Can you believe? Twenty updates went by fast! So, it actually isn't necessary to read this chapter since it's just a bonus one, but I lack self-control and couldn't seem to stop writing this story, and I decided to include it. You especially don't have to read it if you, like, hate SeungChuChu pairing because that’s all up in there, and, oh yeah: it’s a Phichit chapter! I had fun writing his POV hahha

Flower petals are plastered over the soles of my brogues, inching up the heels and over the edge of the toes. I kick my shoes off at the door, trying to be stealthy on my way to the wide hotel bed, but nearly trip over my aching feet in the darkened room. I should’ve been in a around two hours ago, but I was stuck in the hallway, on the phone with one of the members of the wedding party: a friend with no sense of direction. The venue was a short drive from the city, but unfamiliar territory in the dark can be pretty confusing, so I don’t blame him for getting lost; that’s why I booked this hotel room. I mean, I certainly wasn’t about to drive back home or make anyone else do it. Especially not with alcohol in my system and every muscle screaming at me to lie down. I toss my suit to the floor, not giving a damn how much it wrinkles, and lower myself onto the edge of the bed. Wow, the mattress is much softer than I was expecting! I doubt I’ll be sleeping much tonight, though; my legs are restless and my feet are killing me. Instead of lying down, I cross my legs and rub my heel, sighing at the slight relief. I can’t remember the last time I was on my feet for so long without a break.

Being a best man comes with a lot of responsibilities, including micromanaging so the groom(s) won’t have to worry. Victor called this morning, so I had to get up with the sun and book it to the venue. Yuri didn’t ask for a whole lot, but he did want blue ribbons tied around the trees on either side of the aisle and Victor aims to please. When I checked it out, only one side was finished, and not very well. I didn’t argue with the decorators, but I did show them how it’s done; I also had to remind them to sweep the blossom petals from the aisle before the ceremony. Honestly, Yuri wouldn’t really care if the aisle was clear or not, and I doubt Victor would have, either, but I wanted everything perfect. Good people deserve good things in life, in my opinion. Afterwards, I called the caterer, the bakery, the florist and the band to make sure they were going to be on time, without a hitch. The menu needed to be tweaked because a shipment didn’t come in properly, the cake was behind schedule, the flower order got mixed up and had to be corrected. Needless to say, it took much longer than expected, and by that time, I was just getting back to my apartment. There was a note on the table, informing me that I had breakfast and a can of coffee in the fridge. I hadn’t realized I was starving, running around here and there all morning and part of the afternoon. A call from Yuri came in, taking me back on the road: one of Victor’s groomsmen left his suit at the tailor’s and I offered to get it and bring it with mine. What’s one more thing to bring? By that time, I had to make my way to Yuri’s place to check on him; as expected, he had an unbelievable amount of nervous energy that he was turning into weirdly timed laughter and snarky remarks. Don’t get me wrong, it was hilarious, but I needed my best friend in good spirits for his wedding. I gave him a talk, reminding him that the ceremony and reception were going to be perfect and fun; luckily, he didn’t point out that I’ve never been married and am in no place to give advice on a wedding. I mean, I have a man and I’ve been to weddings; it’s not like I’m totally clueless. Anyway, I think it helped him: he seemed more like his usual self, complete with shy smiles and eye rolls. When I left Yuri with his family, I remembered I still had to feed my hamsters and grab my suitcase; how I’d forgotten those tasks isn’t a wonder. How many things were on my mind? Another cup of coffee, and my paid driver was taking me to the venue. It was such a sight! The afternoon sun lit up the rows of trees, pale pink petals glowing and contrasting with the blue ribbons knotted at the trunks and around the white benches. Paper lanterns in different shades of blue and turquoise hung from a trellis, a canopy over the altar. I didn’t get to stop and stare for long: I was needed in one of the changing rooms, and needed to get dressed myself. It was so loud in there, I could hardly hear myself think; probably a blessing since those thoughts would surely be about all the things that could’ve gone wrong earlier. Again, I had to remind Yuri that his wedding was going to be a fairytale; I didn’t tell him that the cake still hadn’t arrived yet, and one of the other groomsmen along with Yuri’s childhood friend helped me convince him everything would go smoothly. The look in his eyes, no joke, nearly brought me to tears. It was two years ago that he met Victor, and I’d never seen him look as happy and excited as he did in that dressing room. Oh, Yuri was a sight! His hair was combed back, and he actually let me put a little makeup on him; not a lot, just enough to even out his complexion and highlight his adorable cheekbones. His custom suit somehow fit even better than when we last had it altered, and he couldn’t stop smiling; it was infectious.

“Phichit?”

The voice behind me makes me jump, cutting through the silence like a clap of thunder. I slap my hand over my heart, gasping. “Seung Gil, you scared the hell out of me. I thought you were asleep.” Oh, actually, maybe he was asleep. I turn to the owner of the voice, unable to see him in the dark but knowing exactly where he is; he always sleeps on the right side of the bed. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” I whisper.

“No.” A hand gropes around the bed, landing on my shoulder. The bed shifts only a little under his weight; I think he’s sitting up. “Is everything alright?”

I pat his hand, leaving it on top. “Yeah, I was on the phone forever, though; my bad. My feet hurt, and I was just rubbing them.”

“You wouldn’t stop dancing.” Seung Gil tugs on my shoulder, guiding me further up the bed. “What did you expect?” His hands trail down one leg, reaching my foot and kneading his thumbs into my arch. I flop back against the mattress, letting out a pleased sigh. Seung Gil sure knows how to treat a guy! While I was busy dancing the night away, he was probably knowingly shaking his head.

“No regrets.” I sigh again, shutting my eyes. “Can you believe this is the first time I’ve been off my feet today?” Seung Gil hums in response, working the pain from my heel. The darkness may be hiding him from sight, but my mind fills in the blanks: I'd know that face anywhere. When I walked down the aisle with a leashed Vicchan, I saw a familiar mop of black hair near the back of the benches; it was all I could focus on as I made my way under the trellis. I mean, of course I saw Yuri when he marched down the aisle, blossom petals scattering around him, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the man in the back, the only one wearing a dark suit at this time of year. His eyes were so focused on the two grooms, he didn’t even notice me staring; I don’t think he did, anyway. While vows were shared, Seung Gil’s eyes brightened at every promise, every hope for their future. His mouth curled up in a tiny little smile, cracking his normally serious expression into one of supportive happiness. Over the two years we’ve been dating, Yuri has also been dating Victor; we all got to know each other pretty well, so I know my boyfriend was glad to be there, but seeing that joyful look on his face left me no choice but to grin in return. Not many get to see Seung Gil in his lighter moods. It’s just the type of person he is. Evidently, weddings involving our friends and their dogs as ring bearers will bring that sentimental side of his to the surface. I pulled my eyes from him long enough to watch the end of my best friend's ceremony, wiping more than a single tear from my eyes. Yuri's parents dabbed at their eyes with tissues, and I swear on my hamsters’ lives that Mari had tears in her eyes, too; no joke, she was crying at her brother's wedding and it only made me smile more. When I looked back at Seung Gil, his eyes had finally found mine. For whatever reason, this made my face warm with a blush, butterflies filling my stomach. In a way, it’s kind of embarrassing that my boyfriend can still make me feel that way, but it’s also something I’m grateful for. Speaking of being grateful, I haven’t thanked him for the foot massage. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Hm?”

“Thanks for rubbing my feet. You were right, though: I should've broken those shoes in. I owe you one.” I cover my eyes with my forearm, noticing no difference in darkness. Seung Gil probably nods or shrugs; I can’t know for sure, but I’d bet on it.

“You’ve done a lot today, helping out, and I think you danced with everyone who was there.” He chuckles softly. “You don’t owe me.”

Maybe I can help ease the tension in his neck and shoulders when he has one of those dreadfully long days surrounded by math and grading papers. I think we could call it even then. “If you say so, babe. I still really, really appreciate it.” I also appreciate what he did at the reception. I’d been dancing for some time, acting ridiculous with Yuri, singing loudly with whatever the band played along with Victor, losing late in a dance competition with some friends and guests I just met. I can’t say it was all fueled by alcohol; I like having fun and being around people, sober or not. The band randomly decided to play a slow song, somewhat jazzy and romantic. I know how Seung Gil is: he isn’t a fan of crowds or being overly affectionate in public, unless he's hella drunk. He also isn’t really into dancing, so I stepped off the dance floor as people started pairing off. For real, I was content to sit down and watch, maybe snack and chat with my boyfriend, post some selfies and maybe upload a video or two. Well, that didn’t happen. A moment after I sat next to Seung Gil, he stood up from his chair. I asked what he was doing, to which he held out his hand, asking me to dance. At first, I admit, I didn’t believe him. When he took my hand in his, though, I knew he was serious. He walked us back to the dance floor, taking me in his arms, and danced with me. At some point, Yuri and I made eye contact and exchanged silly grins; it was like a secret thumbs-up, an acknowledgement of how special the moment was. I smile at the memory, how wonderful it felt to be in Seung Gil's embrace, slowly moving across the floor with the other couples, lost in the music. “I’m really happy you danced with me.” I sit up on my elbows. “I think that made my night.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t the cake that did it for you?” He may have witnessed me eating more than my share, but I didn’t see him trying to stop me, either. I laugh, feeling no shame in my actions. “You know, Victor didn’t know about the cake. How close it came to not showing up, I mean.”

“Did you tell him?”

A pause indicates Seung Gil’s want to phrase his next statement carefully. “I mentioned something about it, and he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. I had to explain then.”

“That was such bullshit.” I roll my eyes, reclining back against the mattress again. “They knew the time and date well in advance. Like, you can’t keep it straight? That’s kind of your job, people.” Thinking about it still gets me irritated. “I’m just glad Yuri didn’t find out. I’d have hated to see him anxious today.”

“That’s basically how Victor felt about it.” Seung Gil switches to my other foot. I’m actually astonished at how much of the pain he’s relieved! He must either be magic or the best boyfriend ever. “He said he spent a lot of time making sure Yuri wasn't stressed, and tried to keep his mind from doing that anxiety thing.” I spent a lot of my night with Yuri, but did manage to get some time to talk with Victor. His best man couldn’t pick up the slack for him, so I was left in charge a lot of the time. Of course, I didn’t mind; Victor’s best man isn’t from around here, so he was only able to throw the bachelor party, but that’s another story. When Victor had a minute between visiting with guests and showing Yuri off, we stepped outside for a chat. He thanked me for helping out, slightly remorseful for putting so much on my shoulders. Victor also mentioned that the wedding couldn’t have happened without me. I’m not gonna lie, it was beyond flattering, but it was also unnecessary. I reminded him that Yuri’s my best friend, like a brother to me, and I would’ve gone above and beyond for him no matter what. Victor then thanked me for being such a good friend to Yuri, and for taking care of him when he can’t; there are just some things a boyfriend can’t do, and I know that Yuri has my back in those times as much as I have his. I thanked Victor for being good to my friend, for accepting him and loving him the way he deserves.

I stretch my arms over my head, hitting the wall by accident. “Ow! Why is the wall so close to me?”

“I think maybe you’re too close to the wall.”

I scoff, sitting up and tucking my leg under me. “Whatever.”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, I’m good.” I stretch my hand to make sure I’m not lying, nodding when nothing really hurts. “Remember when we met them as a couple for the first time?”

Seung Gil laughs quietly, possibly rolling his eyes. “I do. It was the first time I met Yuri in person, but we’d seen each other during your video chats.” While Yuri was away at his old summer house, I called and Skyped with him; sometimes Seung Gil would be with me and end up awkwardly stuck in the conversation. “He was pinned under Victor’s arm; I remember that.”

Laughing, I recall the sight: Yuri stood on my doormat, Victor’s arm wrapped around him like he’d never let go. Of course, Yuri was redder than a strawberry, but made no attempt to escape or show discomfort; he had his arm around Victor, too, in fact. “That was hilarious! They’d been together, what? A week? And looked like they were on their honeymoon.” To be fair, they still act like that: holding hands, standing close, leaning into each other at seemingly every chance they get. “That’s when we went to the sushi bar we like and you wouldn’t eat the vegetable tempura, and then wanted to pay for everyone.” If I remember correctly, Seung Gil and Victor ended up splitting the cost while Yuri and I left the tip.

“That was a nice evening.”

“So was tonight.” I exhale, rubbing my calves. We’ve had many fun times with Yuri and Victor, and it’s been wild to have a front row seat to their relationship. I don’t think Yuri would’ve ever gone back to photography if Victor hadn’t shown up; that hole in his heart would still be there, and he'd probably still be managing the boarding house instead of photographing for fashion designers and magazine editors. Yuri isn’t as quick to berate himself over little things anymore, and he takes more pictures than Victor does. I love to see Yuri smile more often, and share his work with the world; he has quite a number of followers and fans now, admirers who pay for his work and ask him for photo shoots. Sometimes, Yuri doesn’t know what to do with so much support and success. Those times, I ask him to watch a movie with me, or Victor whisks him away for a weekend; anything to remind him that he’s still our Yuri and we'll be there for good and bad. Victor hasn’t stalled in his career, either; he’s even collaborated with Yuri on a project that’s making its way through galleries near and far. Tonight, they both took a break from holding up their cameras: Victor’s protégé, deemed Yurio by Mari, took their picture after the ceremony and milled about the reception to capture candids. I’m sure they’ll be incredible, him being a student of Victor’s, and all.

Seung Gil releases my foot, setting it on the bed with a pat. “Better?”

“Much! Thank you.” I yawn, knowing I should feel sleepy but simply don’t. Maybe today was too eventful for my body to relax; it’s like I have leftover energy and adrenaline. I’m still in my pressed shirt, so I start to unbutton it. Why is this such a chore in the dark? “Stupid buttons!” I chide myself for lacking such a basic skill. Familiar fingers press against my chest, tugging at the shirt and fiddling with the buttons.

“I’ve got it.”

“My hero!” I laugh, though I’m grateful for the help. As Seung Gil gets lower, his hands slow down. Then they come to a complete stop, hanging onto my shirt. “Seung Gil?”

“I need to ask you something.”

Is that pain in his voice? Without being able to see him, his tone is unfiltered. There’s no need for him to be scared, or nervous; not with me. “Go ahead. I’ve got you.” I place my hand over his, accustomed to the skin colder than mine.

At first, all I get is a sigh. It doesn’t exactly fill me with hope, but I need to know what’s on his mind. Asking him to speak might cause him to retreat, so I wait instead. “Seeing all the happy couples together and watching how they interact, I…it made me wonder if you don’t regret being with someone like me? Not that I’d want that, but…do you wish things were different? Or maybe…wish that I were different?” I don’t even have time to comprehend the sadness in his voice before my jaw drops at this absurd question! Is he thinking that I envied others at the wedding? Did he think I was flirting with someone else while dancing, or something? Could he be projecting a desire for someone different onto me? He can’t really be asking me this. Then again, he is, and he must have a reason for it. He sounded sad; sad at what, I’m not sure. Well, he said he didn’t want me to regret being with him, but wonders about it. He must know that I want only him, right? So maybe things aren’t perfect between us: he thinks I spend too frivolously, I think he should wear something other than black or blue or red, his dog sheds more than I expected, I take too long in the shower, sometimes we're so busy we only see each other when getting out of or in bed, he wants the window open while we sleep and I want the heater on. That’s all trivial, though. I don’t care that he’s happier watching me dance than joining me, and I don’t mind not touching his things and working around his need to chaotically organize. Maybe all he needs is a reminder. I pick my jaw up from the floor and feel around his form: arm, that’s a shoulder, neck; his face in my hands is soft, leaning into my touch. His hands drop from my shirt to cover mine, smooth and still.

“I hope you don’t really wonder that.” I don’t know why I’m whispering. “When I met you, I thought you were such an interesting person, so different from me. I wouldn’t change that for anything, and I wouldn’t change you.” His forehead against mine eases my nerves, grounding me here with him. “Before you asked me to dance, I was just going to sit with you and talk and not mind one bit. I love that you know who you are, and I don't want you any other way.” His lips taste like champagne and vanilla, warm against mine. The first time I ever kissed Seung Gil, I became addicted to his lip balm, loving how the flavor mixed with the taste I can only describe as him. He pulls away after a moment, brushing his nose against mine.

“Thank you, Phichit.”

“What’s got you so worried?” I start to lie down after tossing my shirt aside, pulling him with me. “Here, lie down with me. I don’t like when you’re sad.”

He sighs after settling in next to me, allowing me to use his shoulder as a pillow. “Being around so many couples, maybe; the whole wedding scene. I just don’t want to hold you back. I know I’m not exactly the catch of the day, and I’d hate for you to look back at some point and think you made a mistake.” A mistake? If I haven’t run the other way by now, I think we’re in the clear!

“A mistake how? By being with you?”

Seung Gil shifts a bit, tapping a beat on my side. “Or if…if we get married, or something.”

Or something. How interesting that attending a wedding would affect Seung Gil this way. Marriage isn’t a topic we’ve really discussed; we're both quite busy and love our work, we live in separate apartments but never sleep alone, our pets keep us occupied and our relationship isn’t very old yet and neither are we. Some people, like Yuri and Victor, get engaged after a year; other people, like Seung Gil and me, are in no hurry. We aren’t going any place, and we have a lot of money to save first. I may not be good with finances, but I know that much! I snuggle against Seung Gil’s chest, pulling his arm further around me. “You want to marry me, Seung Gil Lee?”

“…one day.”

Awww, he’s getting embarrassed! I can tell by how he’s speaking, clipped phrases and short words, and how he’s tapping his fingers. I tap his nose twice before holding him, loving how he holds me with a soft grip. “I’d never regret being with you in any form.” I’m not ready for a wedding, but I know in my heart that I’m prepared to stay with Seung Gil as long as possible. Forever can be a daunting word for some people; it didn’t seem to phase Yuri, though. We were at my apartment one day, eating cheap delivery Chinese food with flimsy chopsticks, when he turned to me with an oversized smile: he was going to buy Victor a ring, and wanted me to go shopping with him. Yuri and Victor have always had, what I’d call, a whirlwind romance: they swept each other off their feet, framed and hung up each other's artwork, ran off to a vacation house, inspired each other to further their careers, got engaged after only a year and now they’re married. My best friend is somebody’s husband. It’s only a word, really, but I’ve heard it can change things. If it does change things between Yuri and Victor, I hope it’s only for the better; they have such a beautiful thing, and to have it damaged or warped simply because of a label, I’d be devastated, and my best friend would be crushed. “Remember when I went ring shopping with Yuri?”

“I don’t know who was more excited that day.”

Okay, yeah, I was over the moon; my best friend was about to get engaged! How could I not be? “He was so sure, so certain that he wanted to marry Victor. It’s like forever didn’t even shake him, and all he wanted was to call him his husband. Not that he should’ve been afraid, or anything, but he really had his mind made up. Is that odd? No, right?”

Seung Gil traces my jaw with his thumb, tilting my head upwards. “Something on your mind, beautiful?”

I should’ve known that Seung Gil could hear my thoughts through mismatching words; even though he can be rather forgetful, he's pretty observant. I sigh, skimming my hand over his chest. “I don’t want anything to change just because they got married. I want them to be the same couple, and I want them to be just as happy, if not happier, like before.” Seung Gil’s thumb strokes my cheek with the faintest touch; it’s like a physical lullaby, coaxing my eyes shut. “One of our intro art teachers got divorced, like, right after getting married. She said it was because they couldn’t live up to expectations of husband and wife and whatnot. It’s the same for my uncle, and my neighbor, and this woman who started venting to me at the grocery store checkout line. She had two gallons of ice cream in her cart.”

“Maybe those couples never had what Yuri and Victor have to begin with.” Seung Gil suggests. “They really care about each other, and are very committed in their relationship.”

“So I shouldn’t worry?”

He laughs, hardly above a whisper. “It’s a little late for that. You may, but I don’t think it’s necessary. They both seem happy, don’t you think? Unless you notice things start to change in a negative way, you can probably believe that they’re in a good place. You’re a wonderful friend for caring so much, though.”

Hm…I know I’m probably over thinking things, but sometimes I can’t help myself. I suppose Seung Gil’s right: I can worry if they give me something to worry about. I almost asked Yuri if he was still feeling nervous, after most of the guests had gone home and he was thanking his family for their support and love. When the words reached the tip of my tongue, I realized how insensitive they would’ve sounded: are you feeling any anxiety now that you’re hitched? What I really wanted to know was if he felt better after all the formalities and after becoming a husband; I wanted to know if he was happier then than he had been earlier, when he was a giddy ball of nerves: I wanted to make sure that he felt he made the right decision. I should’ve known the answer as soon as I let Yuri go, out of our hug and off towards his husband. When Victor saw him walking over, his smile said it all: eyes bright and shining, joy tinting his cheeks, grin meant for Yuri’s eyes only. Victor waved at him, seeing only him, shiny gold band on his finger catching the light. I suppose if that wasn’t affirmation of Yuri being in good hands, I don’t know what is. “Mm, I see your point. I’m just being overprotective.” I reach up to thank Seung Gil with a kiss, short and sweet. “You know, you’re a great boyfriend. And so smart, too.”

He kisses me, not bothering to be chaste and tender, tasting and taking his time. When we part, I’m breathless, at a loss for words, drunk on Seung Gil. “You’re too kind, but do go on.”

I laugh, sitting up in his lap. Our next kiss is longer, deeper, leaving me slightly lightheaded. “You’re the best. Greedy, but the best.” There really isn’t a thing I’d change about Seung Gil; I appreciate all he is and accept what he isn’t. I guess I can understand why Yuri was so excited to get married: having someone love you as you are, flaws and all, isn’t the most common thing and when you get to be held by arms that welcome you, eyes that treasure you, forever doesn’t sound bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If y'all were unaware, I ship SeungChuChu like FedEx.. .and my next project is a new AU that features them. I'm actually super stoked to work on it, and it’d be real groovy if you kept an eye out for it :3 I’ve had some truly amazing readers on this fic, and I’ve appreciated every comment, kudos, share, follow, fave and bookmark! It means a lot to have so much support on something I’ve always been scared of doing, so thank you for sticking around and being wonderful :D Anyway, that’s it for AiR! I’m on FF net as FloralFox and Tumblr as thefloralfox (any original works will be posted to my empty Tumblr at floralfoxtales) and I wish you all well, 'kay? XOXO Fox~


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